


Forelsket

by jonunu



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Basically just those two falling in love bc I could write about that a million times, Fluff and Smut, Greasy Romance, M/M, Minho is a traveller, Newt is a baker, Somehow Newt's beauty is described a lot I don't know how this could happen, just a tad bit of Angst, kissing kissing kissing, like the Angst is so unbelievable small in this one, please love this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonunu/pseuds/jonunu
Summary: FORELSKET [fo-rels-ket] ; (n.) the euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love. They say when you meet the love of your life, times stops, and that is true. However, what they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Minewt Bang! It was a such new experience, but I really enjoyed working with an artist and beta-reader~  
> Thank you so much @caritivereflection for correcting my work! It's quite hard sometimes when you try to write in another language, but I even learned out of this! And also please everyone send love to @ajandrea's art! I really loved working with her and her work just turned out amazing. ^_^ 
> 
> [that's their tumblr names, so pay their blog a visit! ㅡ Also I want to apologize for the quotation marks, if anyone is bothered by it!]

**FORELSKET**

* * *

 

  It’s the year of 1908, May, but the current date forgotten. Minho only catches glimpses of newspapers when he passes through England’s giant cities. The month of ‚ **The first passenger flight in an airplane** ’, in big bold letters on the front cover: ‚ **Wireless Radio Broadcasting is patented by Nathan B. Stubblefield** ‘, exchanged a few days later by the title: ‚ **John Masefields “Tragedy of Nan“ premieres in London** ‘ and on the next side‚ , **French poet and novelist, François Coppée’s death cause unspecified** ‘. Minho loves the newspapers, the stack of creased thin paper with printed black-and-white photographs and pithy headlines. The latest one is rolled up like a panatela inside his knapsack, squashed between an half empty bottle of water and dirty Jeans. The tiny tin can in the front pocket clanks with every step he takes, the butterscotch rattling. Dirt clings to the tips of his tattered dark boots and the soles seem to get thinner day by day, maps of all the paths and roads he’s gone engraved in grooves. His only jacket is wrapped tightly around his middle, soft whiffs of muggy air brushing the exposed olive skin of his arms, creeping up the cropped sleeves and combing through his thick spiky black hair. Pungent streams of sunshine kiss his nose as he finally leaves the mountains behind him, following a sandy trail, the grit giving in beneath his weight.

There is a piece of woodlands greeting him next and taking him in with welcoming arms, thin limbs and branches well-stocked with lush leaves. The treetops seem to reach far into the sky, nearly disappearing in a pink fog of clouds and the gleam of the sinking sun, painting the leaves in a thick orange colour.

It takes a lot of steps through moss and over bulky roots until the last bits of sunshine grow too weak to fight their way through the heavy, green cloaks occupying the branches anymore. He dives deeper into the thicket and for a moment he thinks he is lost before he eventually hears the faint sound of music – violins humming in harmony and a slight muffled drumming tagging along. It’s almost wraithlike, the soft hums like whistles between the rustling of the leaves as the wind howls and cries. The sun has left already and Minho orients himself by the gentle chimes, which seem to become more clear and audible with each foot put ahead of the other.

And as he leaves the presence of thick oaks and maple trees behind successfully, a small ocean of lights comes into his sight. It’s a small town, a village with quaint houses, their window shutters closed and flowerbeds inundating. Stepping through the invisible gates, Minho lets his gaze travel along the low garden fences and individual tin postboxes. The shops are closed, lights switched off and everything dark behind the glass of every window – almost abandoned it seems, if there wasn’t the hum of the violins still ringing and a stream of chatter and laughter coming closer. Taking another turn, getting deeper, much deeper into the village’s core, passing by another row of picture-perfect white wooden fences and eventually coming to a halt in front of a thick curtain made of leaves separating him from the joyful turmoil.

What’s hidden beneath is made of fairy lights hung in between tree limbs and a sweet whiff of alcohol and strawberries. He is taken by both hands, hurled into a wave of dancing bodies by two women in light flimsy dresses and spun in circles as the lights become blurry and the music louder. There are mosquitoes whirring round his head, humming in high-pitched voices and glasses clirring, filled with a red liquid that spreads a scent of fruity sweetness.

And it’s all so fast and blurry, a chaste pushing in various directions, into various people, who laugh it off and smile at him as if they were familiar. And it happens in a storm, yet in such a soft and dreamish gust – until it suddenly stops. Minho sees him dancing, sees a luminous smile spread across thin lips as he twirls in the midst of all those people, eyes in crescents and blue shirt of satin, white apron clinging to the narrow waist as his honey hair bounces slightly. Minho sees him and he doesn’t know him, but he feels his fingertips twitch and heart slow down as everything else around him stands still.

And this is where this story starts. It’s not exactly the start of Minho’s journey – far from it actually – but it’s the beginning of a small feeling, a ‚thump, thump, thump‘ inside his chest and a tiny tornado devastating all the forced tidiness inside his head. This story doesn’t start with the first cry of a newborn baby or the move into another town, it doesn’t start with Minho packing his bags and leaving his home in order to travel either – nor with his mother crying as she kisses his forehead and waves the last farewell. It’s not about Minho’s two years away from home, not about the places he’s been to and not about the people he’s met. This story doesn’t start in the first line of a blank sheet – it starts here, in the exact moment his heart misses a beat.

Because they say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that’s true. Forwhy when their eyes meet, all those people freeze, droplets of red liquor caught in the air, gravity gone, but Minho is still standing steady. And just like that the story starts, just as simple as that.

He wants to stride forward, get closer to the blond stranger – however, what they don’t tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up.  
Minho loses sight of the boy, bright smile swallowed by the mass again. For another moment he halts, gaze hurriedly searching for the mop of honey coloured hair before he eventually gives up. The story has started and now Minho is clueless on what to do next. So he escapes from all the excitement and delight, breaking away from the hold of too friendly strangers.

Back in the cold hush of the night Minho strolls through the village, noticing a sign weakly illuminated and presenting an old-fashioned pension, with brown window shutters and an shabby ugly foot mat telling him to ‚Feel Welcome‘. Surprised, that the light is on, he decides to enter, pushing open the heavy door. The front of the building is seemingly constructed as a dining room with a bar right in the middle and a staircase leading to higher floors.  
 

„What brings you here, mate?“ The deep voice makes Minho stop as he whips his head around. Behind the bar pops up a young man, shoulders broad and charcoal skin dark. „You’re lucky I don’t go to the town’s feast.“

Minho, however, really doesn’t know what to say when the bartender looks at him once again expectantly, raising his left eyebrow. „So?“

 „I just wanted, uh, to stay a night or two.“ Minho’s gaze flickers to the man’s large hands, gripping the frayed washcloth as he cleans the various glasses, first from the outside and then from the inside.

„You don’t exactly look like someone, who settles.“

Minho clears his throat, lazily settling on one of the empty barstools. The leather sags weakly beneath his weight. „I am not planning to,“ he says, „I mean, two nights should be enough here.“

And now the bartender’s brow lowers again as he says, „Gotta cost you quite a few bucks. My pension’s high class.“

„Really?“ Minho asks in return, almost cracking a grin as he spares a glance at the poor guy whining and nagging quietly under his breath a few meters away. „The guy wiping vomit from the table probably doesn’t think so.“

„Ah, that’s Ben’s job. Some people still don’t know their limit, though. Chugging down their beer like it’s some sort of cure for their miserable lives.“

Now there is a grin stealing its way on his lips as he rasps a low „Lovely“ in return.

„Indeed.“ The other curtly nods. „However, a little bit vomit on the table hasn’t harmed anyone yet. Doesn’t make this palace less popular, let me tell you that.“

„As long as you can offer me a bed, I won’t complain.“

„Now, that’s what I wanted to hear!“ comes the joyful cheer in return and a clap on Minho’s shoulder follows.

He’s about to reach for his wallet, asking, „How much?“ when the deep voice calls out again and tells him, „Two hundred bucks per night.“ and he halts.

„What?“ Minho’s brows furrow.

„Two hundred bucks per night.“

„That’s too much.“

The bartender sighs, glass clinking as he puts it down onto the wooden counter. „Look, shank, I gotta earn some money to stay alive, alright? That’s how it works and if you’re not willing to agree then you can search for another place to stay at.“

„I need my money for food!“ Minho cries loudly, „I can’t just spend it carelessly. Come on, there must be a cheaper way.“

„There is.“

At this Minho perks up, hope glimmering inside his slitted eyes. „Really?“

„It’s free, actually.“

„Tell me!“

„Leave and don’t come back.“

The Asian male huffs. „Seriously?“

„Okay, okay. Maybe you could…,“ the other starts again, but there is no end to his words so Minho presses further.

„What?“ he asks, „Maybe I could what?“

There is a sly smile on the bartender’s lips. „You work for me and in return you get the mattress in the basement.“

„The basement.“ Minho deadpans, face expressionless and blank.

„Yes, the basement.“

 „And I’ll work for you?“

„Ten hours a day with no payment or whatsoever.“

Minho’s brows shoot up immediately. „So you’re making me your slave?“

„That’s a little harsh to say, isn’t it?“ the other chuckles lightly, but Minho hears the evil hint behind it.

„No,“ he states, „I’m pretty sure that’s making me your slave.“

„Sorry, mate,“ a nonchalant shrug and, „can’t really offer you anything else.“

Minho knows he doesn’t actually feel sorry. And he’s about to stand up, so ready to leave, when suddenly another voice pipes in, making him turn his head and eye the blond worker still scrubbing at the table’s surface.

„You could offer him information,“ he hums, a bead of sweat running along his temple. Minho wrinkles his nose, eyes narrowing in confusion as he turns back to Alby expectantly, who only tells the guy to, „Shut your hole, Ben.“

„Information?“ Minho asks and then Ben is speaking up again, nodding eagerly as he tells him, „Alby is like the old granny that knows everything about everyone.“

When Minho shoots another questioning glance at the bartender, Alby grabs a new glass, drying it calmly. „It’s a great way to earn some extra bucks,“ he says. „Some people are way too curious for their own good.“

„He got a hundred bucks from this old ass Janson, because he wanted to know if his wife was cheating on him.“ Ben excitedly exclaims, the scrubbing long forgotten.

Minho’s left brow twitches. „Was she?“

Alby nods in return. „Yeah,“ he says, „but I told him she wasn’t.“

„Why?“

The dark skinned man looks at him, eyes full of untold stories. „Because it’s not my job to destroy a marriage.“

Ben puts a hand to his hip, washcloth pointed in Minho’s direction. „Janson came back, though. Wanted his money back after his wife had admitted cheating on him. Alby didn’t move a muscle and the guy stormed off.“

„He had enough money to pay me for a pathetic little answer so he must’ve had enough money to pay a couple‘ counselor.“

Minho’s forehead is in wrinkles when he mumbles, „I honestly thought this village was all calm and shit.“

Alby clicks his tongue. „Behind closed doors there is always more going on than you know,“ he murmurs, grabbing another glass as the other is sent down with a soft clinking sound.

„And how do you know about all that stuff?“ Minho asks.

„People come here, get a drink or two, and suddenly they are spilling the beans,“ comes the explanation in return. „All I have to do is nod and pour some more liquor. Always keep their cups filled.“

Minho’s gaze flickers to the man’s hands again, a stunned, „Smart, very smart“ leaving his plump lips.

„So are you interested? You’ll be getting my information for free if you’ll accept my deal.“

His eyes flicker back to Alby’s face now. „I’m not sure, I–“ but he is interrupted, „Ah, come on!“ the bartender shouts friendly, „you were on the feast, weren’t you?“

„Well, yeah–“

„And you’re telling me no one has spiked your interest?“

Minho gulps. „I mean, maybe…,“ he eventually murmurs and the twinkle of interest in the other’s eyes makes him almost instantly regret speaking up.

„Who is it?“ he presses curiously, „Blond? Black? Or brown hair?“

It’s too late. „Blond?“ It’s definitely too late.

„Blond!“ Alby repeats loudly, wide grin spreading across his face. „I knew you had a reason to stay here.“

„I don’t even know him, it’s–“

Minho has already majorly fucked up. „Oh it’s a him?“ He feels like Alby’s interest only belongs to him now, glass set back on the counter. „I know exactly who you’re talking about.“

But then there’s a twinkle setting off inside Minho’s eyes instead as he asks, „You do?“

And when Alby asks, „Was he wearing an apron?“ Minho thinks he’s a little too loud as he answers with, „Yes!“

Alby nods then, glass in his hands again. „I do,“ he says and Minho get’s so excited, Ben’s stupid laugh from the back going unnoticed as he eagerly stares at Alby starting to wipe the glass dry.

The bartender says, „I got one information for you.“ And Minho asks, „What is it?“ And suddenly his stomach drops, face falling as the other mutters, „Forget about him, it’s the best for you.“

„What? Why?“

„He’s out of your league, buddy.“

That’s the moment Minho’s brows furrow angrily. „You don’t know me!“

„These past twenty minutes were enough for me to get a picture of you.“ And Alby is acting so bored, so careless, treating him like scum, pesky and undesirable dregs. Minho can’t help but growl, „You don’t know shit.“

Not once the other glances at him, gaze trained on the glass between his fingers. „The way you talk to me is very revealing as well, just saying.“

„You know what? Forget the deal. I don’t need this shit.“

And Minho stands up, turning around, ready to leave when suddenly Alby’s voice rings out another time, not only startling him, but Ben as well. The blond looks irritated, but so does Minho when the bartender stops his movement with a deferred, „Hey, hey, hey. Hold on, buddy. Maybe I was wrong.“

However, Minho still doesn’t notice the utterly stunned expression on Ben’s face as he drops the nasty washcloth onto the floor, mouth hanging open stupidly. „You were,“ Minho agrees gruffly, „you were wrong.“

And Alby actually keeps acting, smile so horribly fake, but Minho doesn’t see it, he just doesn’t see it behind the thick dust of pride surrounding him. So the other smiles, murmuring, „You’re right. I was wrong.“ And offering him, „How about I’ll give you one information about our blond angel each day and you’ll prove me that I was wrong for real?“

And Minho’s eyes turn into slits. „I’ll prove you wrong,“ he warns, „I’ll show you that I have a chance with him.“

„Of course,“ Alby agrees. „So what do you say?“ There is a hand stretching towards his, a challenging grin on the bartender’s face as he asks, „Deal?“

Minho grasps the welcoming hand. „Deal.“

 

 

And like that the story takes its course. Each day is stamped with a different row of words, whirring inside Minho’s head like the flies around the fruits in Alby’s beloved china bowl, being placed on top of the counter every single Sunday. Each day Minho’s shift ends with a curt nod from Alby as he mutters quietly, almost secretly, and each day is actually just another day stuck in the same lane, only moving in circles.

Alby tells him things like: ‚His favourite colour is yellow‘ and ‚He loves buttercups‘ and not a single information brings Minho actually closer to anything at all, but he still grins stupidly by the end of each day, nuzzling his face into the ragged and dingy fabric of his only pillow by night and sighing in content as his mind drifts to the blond, to the tiny incomplete pieces he still remembers of his face.

And on the sixteenth day his path crosses the one of a poor lad, hair a dark tangled mess and all of his actions just as messy as well. The boy’s name is Thomas and Minho cops him trying to steal an apple from the fruit booth of an old lady on a sunny Wednesday, their eyes meeting and grins being exchanged. It’s almost odd, but since that moment the old stick is attached to his hip, chewing the fat with him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And all that scuttlebutt and chitchat eventually leads to a whole lot different turn in the story as Thomas not only proudly announces that he’s working for „Frypan’s Restaurant! The best restaurant in the town.“ – „Probably the only restaurant as well, huh?“ – „Hey!“ but also knows a certain blond boy. It doesn’t take even two minutes for Minho to find out his heartthrob’s name is Newt and that he owns the only bakery in the village. Alby nearly chokes on his coffee when he hears about Thomas‘ heedless jabbering.

However, before Alby is able to get his hands on the poor guy’s throat, Minho is already on his way to the small pastry, large bouquet of buttercups held tightly to his chest and palms sweaty as the stems go dry in between his fingers. It’s been an awfully awkward experience to buy the flowers, the lanky guy behind the counter wiggling with his eyebrows as Minho tensely tells him they are for his mother. Though finally standing on the step to the shop with white window frames and pastel pink awnings, he gulps. Slightly pushing open the door the sweet tinkle of silver bells announces his presence and then a mop of honey hair behind the counter pops up. Minho tightens his grip a little more when he comes face to face with Newt, the beaming smile on his lips looking sweeter than each and every slice of cake behind the thick glass of the showcase.

Newt’s face is incredibly soft and small colourful shreds come flying as Minho remembers the way he had shone that one night, the way he had glistened beneath the tiny lightbulbs in between lush leaves of trees. Minho remembers exactly the faint haze of sunshine wrapped around his body as he begun their story.

 

„Good evening, Sir.“ Minho’s legs quiver when Newt speaks up, voice smooth and mellow. It’s almost embarrassing how he doesn’t say anything at all in return but fumbles with the stems of the radiant buttercups instead. „Can I help you?“

And Minho is about to just drop the bouquet and turn around because – seriously – he feels like he’s gone bonkers. Everything about this is just painfully embarrassing and awkward and maybe it really is a good idea to give the flowers to his mother. So he stands there for another moment, joyful soft chatter of the guests around him like an endless track of ambient music before he eventually clears his throat.

„Uh… I–,“ a brief glance into the direction of an old lady sipping her camomile tea, „I wanted – uh…,“ a gulp, „a coffee perhaps?“

And Newt’s curt nod makes him exhale in relief as he slumps down at an empty table, the large bouquet hitting the surface with a light thud. But before he has the chance to completely give himself to the taunting thoughts appearing in the back of his mind, nagging, nibbling and laughing about the way his face is still so hot, his cheeks flushed and his palms all sweaty, there is a young boy appearing next to him. He places a porcelain pot of milk and sugar on the table, as well as a cup of black coffee, steam arising from the dark liquid, and a small teaspoon. Minho thanks him, taking hold of the teaspoon when he realizes the boy doesn’t budge but keeps standing next to him instead, pretty close as well.

Minho lifts his head in irritation, again wording a plain, „Uh, thank you.“

„For who are these flowers?“

The question catches him completely off guard. „Uh…“

The young boy’s brows shoot up, excited glint shimmering inside his dark eyes. „Are they for your wife?“ he asks, toothy smile and red cheeks.

„I don’t – I don’t have a wife,“ Minho eventually murmurs, still holding onto the teaspoon as his coffee exhales white puffs of steam.

„I’ve never seen you here before.“

„I come from somewhere else.“

The other’s face lights up another time. „Really?“ he asks, „From where?“

Minho’s eyes wander through the shop, unsure of how to handle the current situation as the boy grins at him, his brown curls like a bonnet and the T-shirt a tad bit too tight on him. „Uh, I come from behind the mountains and further from the West–“

„What?“ It leaves the boy’s lips in an excited yell. „That’s incredible! Why are you here?“

Minho shrugs. „I’m a traveller,“ he says.

However, the other doesn’t reacts to his words, asking already, „How is it behind the mountains?“ And Minho is so dumbfounded. „It is, uh, quite normal?“

However, before the young worker is able to throw another bunch of questions at him, he gets hit in the back of his head harshly, pouting as his co-worker tells him to „Stop harassing our guests, slinthead.“ and just like that he disappears again. Minho sips gingerly from his coffee now, sometimes glancing cautiously into the direction of Newt. The blond’s hair is dusted with flour and there’s a speck of cream on his right cheek and Minho notices the brief seconds of staring becoming longer, but it’s really not his fault. The blond is chatting with his guests, smiling and laughing and every tiny bit about him is just so soft and lovable and Minho really doesn’t seem to bring up the confidence to look him in the eyes. It’s ridiculous, it’s absurd, but he can’t help it – so he waves over the worker from before when the cup in front of him is finally empty.

The boy’s curls bounce and his face twists in excitement while he dashes over to Minho, cheeks red and eyes glistening once again.

And then Minho asks him, „What’s your name?“ And he answers, „Chuck, Sir!“ So Minho asks, „Could you hand these to your boss please, Chuck?“ And the other actually nods, but then there is a question following. „The flowers are for Newt?“

Minho gulps. „Yes.“

„Do you know Newt, Sir?“ Chuck shoots another question at him and now Minho is slowly becoming flustered.

„I,“ he starts unsurely, „No, not really.“

„Do you like Newt?“

If he’d still have a bit of coffee inside his cup he’d probably would’ve spit it out by now – or maybe choked on it. „No!“ he exclaims loudly, defensive, „I mean, that’s – It’s not important.“

But surprisingly Chuck smiles, finally taking the bouquet of buttercups out of Minho’s sweaty grip. „Newt receives a lot of flowers,“ he tells him, „It’s okay.“

„Oh?“ Minho can’t help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion.

And the young boy nods, taking a yellow petal between his fingers, examining it. „But the bouquets were not as big as this one.“

A bubble of worry pops inside Minho’s mind as he asks, „Is it too much?“

And Chuck actually says, „Probably.“ But before Minho can take it back, the young boy is gone and he hurries after him, only seeing him disappear into the back of the shop, large bouquet of yellow pressed to his chest. And Minho’s face falls, heart up in his throat. He’s caught in the middle of the bakery, twirling in circles before he eventually bolts out of the door, the bells chirping. Minho decides to never come back, to never return and to ignore the unpleasant gurgle of embarrassment inside the pit of his stomach. It’s Newt’s fault not his anyway. Newt started this story and it’s Newt’s fault that Minho feels so embarrassed one way or the other.

 

It’s probably his fault, too, when Minho ends up at Alby’s bar by night, chugging down liquor that’s constantly placed in front of him, almost begging him to be swallowed.

„What did he mean he receives a lot of flowers?“ he asks the bartender that night, brows furrowed.

And Alby says, „You aren’t the first one to buy him a nice bouquet of buttercups.“

And the wrinkles on his forehead become deeper. „What do you mean?“ he asks.

„There were some guys before you,“ Alby tells him nonchalantly, „seeing him once, being all enchanted and stuff. Coming to me, asking about him, and receiving all of the information I gave to you as well.“

Something twists inside his guts. „I’m just one of many then, huh?“ he asks, miserable frown on his face as he yet again chugs the alcohol inside his cup.

„I told you he’s out of your league, buddy.“

And next a young lady enters, dungarees and filthy boots making her look tough. Minho only notices her presence when she sits down next to him, pretty face twisted in irritation when Minho groans loudly, hiding his face inside his hands.

„What crawled up his arse?“ she asks, sweet voice white against the blackness of her words.

„Language, Brenda,“ Alby scolds her, but she ignores him, nudging Minho instead.

„What’s wrong, big boy?“ she asks and when Minho raises his head again, the irritation is back on his face in wrinkles.

„Do I know you?“ he asks in return, but yet when Alby tells him, „That’s Brenda.“ he’s sure he’s never seen her before.

Brenda smirks. „I work on the farm behind the church,“ she proudly exclaims, but Minho’s gaze stays uninterested and empty as a curt „Ah“ rolls off his tongue.

The smirk falls from her lips. „That’s tough work!“ she yells in fury.

Alby puts a soothing hand on her dainty shoulder. „Calm down, Brenda, and have a beer.“

„Since when do you let assholes sit at this bar?“

Minho glares at her. „I’m not an asshole!“

„He’s not that bad,“ Alby agrees, but Brenda still looks unconvinced. „Just a bad day for the poor shank.“

She raises one of her perfectly shaped brows. „Bad day you say?“

And when Alby murmurs, „Bought a bouquet for Newt just to realize he isn’t the first to do so.“ she actually laughs, earning another glare from Minho.

„So, you’re here because of our little blond angel?“ she asks him and the smile on her lips is mischievous, gleeful in such a nasty way.

„No,“ he hisses, huffing.

„It’s okay, though,“ she assures playfully, „he has this sort of bewitching aura around him? It’s fascinating, really.“

And Minho feels like he’s losing it. „Wow,“ he breathes, so fucking pissed off, „Great! You know him, too?“

The smile that appears next looks even more taunting, laughing at him without a single sound. „Honey, everybody knows Newt here. He’s like the heart of the village. Always smiles and sunshine, sneaking a few pastries for the children and hard working ones, you know?“ And when Minho actually dares to look stunned, she laughs, „Now you look surprised.“

„I didn’t know he was so special here.“ A reproachful glance is thrown at Alby, who looks rather unaffected by the action.

„Whoops,“ he murmurs, „I must’ve forgotten to tell you.“

Minho doesn’t feel like he’s losing it – he’s already lost it. „What actually is this village?“ he asks, brows narrowed as he looks from Alby to Brenda and back to Alby again. „Are you all some kind of clan? Taking in poor oblivious travelers and sucking out their souls? Will I die this night or will I wake up tomorrow morning with nothing left and one kidney missing?“

Brenda leans slightly over the counter, elbow resting on the bar’s surface as she mumbles to the bartender, „Wow. How much of your liquor has he downed already?“

Alby shrugs. „It’s only been like four mugs.“

Minho, however, continues his rant, a mad glint inside his dark eyes. „Do you like seducing innocent people and talking them into becoming slaves?“

Brenda laughs. „You’re talking about us like we’ve got some great voodoo shit going on here.“

„You’re all insane!“ Minho exclaims loudly, a few other guests at their table beginning to look worried. „You’re crazy! What was that feast the first time I arrived here, huh?“ he asks, finger pointing at Alby before it wanders to Brenda’s chest. „Was it to chose your next victim?“

„That was our monthly gathering,“ Alby tries to explain, „we come together once a month to–“

However, Brenda won’t let him finish, interrupting him. „To suck souls and have a competition on who has the most corpses in their basement.“

Alby sighs. „Brenda…“

„You’re nuts. It’s true, you’re nuts.“

Brenda raises a brow at the boy’s silent mumbling. „The only one who’s nuts here is you, honey. I mean, do you think Newt mixes some leaves and dirt together to put a spell on you?“ she asks earnestly, but, „He’s more into burning his victims‘ fingernails and drinking their blood–“

Alby glares at her, visibly alarmed. „Brenda! Shut it.“

Minho, however, stays silent as he and Brenda start to stare each other down, fire burning in both their eyes, flames bright and ready to attack.

Alby sighs. „Look, buddy,“ he starts, making Minho look at him instead, „maybe you should hit the mattress.“

„Or maybe you should pack your things and leave to another town. Maybe it will be witch-free.“

„Brenda, that’s enough,“ the bartender stops her, but when she exclaims, „You heard the shit he talked about Newt!“ Minho almost feels bad.

„I said enough!“ It’s the final shout before Brenda leaves with a sulky expression, her barstool empty and Minho’s gaze trailing after her.

Until another shout makes his head whip to the bartender again. „And you!“ He points directly at Minho. „Stop talking about Newt like that. Stop talking about us all like that, or I swear you will wake up tomorrow morning with no kidney at all.“

And Minho just sighs, muttering an apology. Hopefully there are better chapters of this story to come.

 

 

The next day Chuck enters the pension and Minho instantly panics when he spots the mop of curls. He immediately sinks to the floor, scrubbing the floor rapidly with the washrag that was technically supposed to be used for tables – however, this was an emergency.

„Chuck!“ Alby shouts, joyful grin appearing on his face as he opens his arms. „What brings you here?“

The younger nods. „Hey, Alby.“

„Does Newt need something?“

Another short nod. „He’s out of eggs.“

„Already?“ Alby asks, making his way over to another door – probably the kitchen. „The boy has to stop giving away all of his goods for free.“

„You know him.“

And like that Alby disappears, yelling for Ben to take his place at the bar for a while. The poor boy comes rushing, blond hair a tangled mess and wet specks on his grey shirt, and immediately grins when he spots Chuck still standing in front of the bar.

„Hey, Chuck,“ he greats, „a beer for you?“

„Hey, Ben.“

It is quiet then for a moment and Minho quietly keeps scrubbing the floor, trying his hardest not to be seen or heard – but of course he can forget that as long as Ben is there.

„Hey!“ he speaks up excitedly and Minho is already cursing inside his mind. „What did Newt think about Minho’s flowers, by the way?"

Chuck cocks his head in confusion. „Who is Minho?“ he asks, and then suddenly Ben is yelling for him, „Minho!“ and he hits his head from beneath the table, hissing sharply as he glares at his beaming blond co-worker. Screw him and his shit eating grin.

Chuck glances at him. „Oh, the angry looking man.“

Minho’s brows furrow as he looks at Chuck this time. „Angry looking?“ he asks.

„That’s just his face,“ Ben says and Minho is so ready to fight him.

Until Chuck speaks up again, blank expression, but the words that roll off his lips sweeter than cotton candy to Minho. „Newt was all flustered because of the flowers.“

„Really?“ He shoots up, knocking over a chair and hurriedly putting it up again. Awkwardly standing a few meters away from the other two, he clenches his hands into fists.

Chucks nods in reassurance. „Yeah,“ he says, „he was all red in the face.“

„Wow, good job, Minho,“ Ben then pipes in, „making Newt blush without even being the one to give him the flowers.“

Once again Minho only glares at the blond, but then he comes closer slowly, eyeing Chuck full of expectation, so eager and hopeful. „Did he say something else?“ he asks, „Did he say something about me?“

But the other shakes his head. „No. He just said that he had to thank you when you come visit our shop next time.“

Ben smirks, a twitch of his right eye following. „Looks like you got somewhere to go today,“ he teases, „huh?“

And as if on cue, Alby returns to the bar, two cartons of eggs in his arms. All heads spin in his direction. „I hope two will be enough,“ he murmurs thoughtfully, but when he looks up, gaze wandering from one boy to the other, his eyes narrow. „Hey! What is this? A tea party?“

„Alby, I need to go to the bakery!“ Minho exclaims, now stepping close enough that he is standing with them, „Chuck needs someone to bring him back safely.“

Ben snorts.

„Minho,“ Alby starts off, but the other cuts him off before he can deny his wish, „I’ll bring you something?“ he tries, „Please?“

For a moment they exchange looks until Alby sighs in defeat. „A black coffee, and make it quick. Don’t even think about doing something stupid.“

Minho nods his head eagerly, black hair bouncing as he shoves Chuck forwards to the door. „Of course not!“ he reassures the bartender, ripping both cartons out of his grip. „Come, Chuck, I’ll bring you back.“

The youngest turns his head a last time, waving friendly. „Bye, Alby,“ he says, „Bye, Ben.“

Alby sighs. „Bye, Chuck,“ he calls back, frown on his face when both of them push open the pension’s front door, „Greet Newt from us.“

„And ask him to pack some of his cinnamon rolls,“ Ben adds, whining loudly when Alby slaps his head harshly.

„Will do.“

 

And then they’re gone and it is quiet, Chuck walking peacefully and Minho trailing beside him, somewhat a nervous wreck already. If his hands wouldn’t be occupied with two cartons of eggs, he’d probably finger the fabric of his shirt nervously or clench his hands numerous times just to unclench them again.

„Hey, Chuck,“ he eventually mumbles, eyes staring ahead as the younger one looks up to him.

„Yes, Sir?“

Minho licks his dry lips once. „You said Newt receives a lot of flowers, right?“

Out of the corner of his right eye he sees the boy nod. „Correct, Sir,“ he says.

„What happened to the guys that bought him, uhm, flowers?“

And when Chuck tells him, „They are gone.“ He only stutters a miserable small, „G-Gone?“ And it’s really just so ridiculous, because next Chuck nods again, saying, „Well, they headed off to another place.“ And Minho knows he’s just thinking too much, really.

So he asks, „Why?“

And Chuck says, „I don’t know. Newt doesn’t talk about it. They just disappear after some time again. Gally says they give up, because Newt is too picky.“

Minho can’t help but chuckle. „‘Too picky‘,“ he repeats mostly to himself, „huh?“

„I guess,“ the other answers, „You should probably talk with Gally about it, though. He knows a lot more than I do.“

And when they arrive at the bakery Minho’s heart stutters inside his chest. Chuck pushes open the door, jingle of bells following, and he is so full of hope, impatiently awaiting that one bright smile to appear – but behind the register stands Gally, bored expression as Chuck walks up to him, all cheerful and happy.

„Was about time,“ the barista drawls sleepily, „Newt is in the back.“

And then all at once, said boy’s head pokes up behind Gally’s shoulder and it’s what Minho has been waiting for, grin lighting up the whole damn shop. Newt greets Chuck lovingly, teeth all bare when he grins, but then he halts as Minho steps up behind the young boy, pulling the door shut behind them as the bells ring once again.

Minho thinks he sees a blush spread across the baker’s face. „Oh,“ he shyly murmurs, „hello.“

„Minho brought me back safely from Alby’s,“ Chuck cheerfully explains and the blond raises his eyebrows, looking so surprised.

„He did?“ he asks, gaze slowly wandering from Chuck to Minho, who clears his throat awkwardly and offers a crooked smile in return. His heart goes wild when Newt smiles back at him – smiling like the shucking sun.

And then he mumbles, „That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.“ And Minho exhales a nervous chuckle, telling him, „Ah, it’s no problem! Really!“

And then Newt is asking Chuck to take the eggs into the back and help Gally afterwards, so the youngest nods eagerly, ripping the two egg cartons out of Minho’s grip, hurrying off and leaving him awkwardly exposed and empty-handed.

„I am very busy right now as you can see,“ Newt speaks up again, catching Minho’s attention, „but would you like a coffee? I don’t know if there’s a free table, but I could look for you.“

Minho hates to deny that offer. „Oh, no!“ he says, „That won’t be necessary. I only came here to bring back Chuck and get a coffee for Alby.“

„Oh?“ Newt’s eyebrows raise in surprise once again, „Well then,“ he turns to his bored co-worker. „Gally, prepare one black coffee and add a vanilla muffin to it.“

And even though Gally is moving so slowly and so sluggish, Minho stares in wonder as Newt disappears into the back of the shop and the order finishes in nearly no time. A sweet aroma spreads in the shop when he returns to the front, pink box inside his hands, and for a moment Minho believes it’s his own fragrance, probably fitting the taste of his lips, but then he is sure it’s only the cinnamon rolls behind the pink cardboard walls. Newt ties it up neatly with a lovely white satin strap, smile bright once again and eyes crinkly as he pushes it lightly over the counter and into Minho’s direction.

„There you go.“

Minho stumbles to the register, already shoving his right hand into his pocket, searching for a few coins. „How much?“ he asks, but Newt shakes his head, hair bouncing and bangs falling into his eyes.

„Oh, no!“ he exclaims softly, „Alby is like a part of my family. No need to pay.“

Minho’s fingers uncurl from two coins, taking the order instead. And when he is just about to leave, Newt’s voice is sweeter than the tinkle of the silver bells above the front door.

„Don’t let Ben eat all of those by himself,“ he tells him, pointing at the pink box inside Minho’s grip. „You should definitely eat one secretly before putting the box in his reach, or else they’ll be gone in seconds.“

A light chuckle crawls up Minho’s throat and Newt cocks his head, grin on his lips.

„Thank you,“ Minho murmurs, „And,“ he looks around the shop, many guests chatting and talking the evening away, „good luck?“

An earnest smile then dances on Newt’s lips – Minho decides it looks different than his others, but overwhelming nevertheless. „Thank you.“

He winks and turns around once more, but before he is completely outside Newt stops him abruptly another time that day.

„And thank you for the flowers, as well!“ As Minho turns around one last time, throwing a final glance over his shoulder, he notices the rosy blush dusting the other’s cheeks. And it is so strangely satisfying, he can only smile. „They’re beautiful.“

„I thought they’d match your face pretty well.“

 

 

 „Oh god,“ the excited shout makes Minho nearly back away as he pulls the door to the pension shut behind himself, „he packed cinnamon rolls!“ Ben yells, „May our lord and savior bless this pure and hearty soul.“

And the blond is so quick to rip the box out of Minho’s sweaty palms as Alby only smiles warmly at his own treat that Minho places right on top of the counter. However, the smile disappears and is replaced by a blank face – Minho swears Alby has dangerous mood swings.

„I hope you didn’t do anything stupid,“ he rasps lowly and Minho raises both of his hands in defeat.

„I didn’t!“ he reassures the other loudly, „I was being nice and polite the whole time.“

Ben looks up from the pink box, crumbs on the corners of his mouth and sugarcoating on his chin. „Ooh,“ he drawls teasingly, „Newt got you whipped, doesn’t he?“

Minho’s brows furrow. „No!“

„Well, he got me whipped,“ Ben utters dreamily, „these cinnamon rolls taste like sin on my tongue.“

„Ben, for God’s sake, eat like a normal grown up for once,“ Alby chides, hitting the back of the blond’s head curtly before looking at Minho, „and you,“ he commands, „back to work. The tables won’t clean themselves.“

 

 

It’s a few days later when Minho starts doubting, unsure which foot to put in front of the other next, how to get closer to Newt, what to say, what to do. So that’s exactly how he finds himself by night at an empty table as Thomas mops the floors, Minho lazily raising his feet so that the swab fits underneath. However, Thomas isn’t helpful at all.

 „When you want him to notice you, you should try harder.“

„And what do you mean by ‚try harder‘?“

„More flowers, of course.“

And Minho buys more buttercups, earning stunned looks from the florist as he mumbles „Wow, your mother must love these flowers.“ – „Mhm.“ And the bouquets get larger each time, hundreds of yellow petals and the sweet fragrance becoming more and more familiar. It tickles inside his nose, three days in the week a tingle inside his fingertips as he passes the bouquet on to Chuck like he did the very first time. And sometimes Newt isn’t there to notice, but when he is, Minho doesn’t miss the blush spreading across his cheeks in a wonderful rosy tint, shy giggles resounding and returning in Minho’s daydreams.

 

 

And then suddenly one Thursday in June Gally sits beside Minho and stares in wonder.

„Good job, man,“ he says, expression stunned and Minho really doesn’t know what’s going on.

He tears his eyes away from the beautiful blond behind the counter and looks at Gally instead. „Huh?“ he hums stupidly in return.

„I would’ve never thought Newt could lose his mind like that.“

He furrows his brows. „What do you mean?“

„He won’t shut up about you,“ Gally sighs once, „that’s what I mean. I don’t know why he thinks you showering him with flowers is romantic, but he’s definitely into it.“

And the words make Minho’s heart leap, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open. „So he likes them?“ he asks hopefully.

„For the fact that it’s only weed on a stem – yes, way too much.“

And Minho presses, „Did he say something about me?“

But it seems that Gally has his lips sealed even while making them move. „As I already mentioned,“ he says, „he won’t shut the fuck up about you.“

„What did he say?“

„Ask him yourself.“

And then Gally stands up again, making Minho stare after him perplexed. „Hey, wait,“ he calls after him, „come on!“

The barista turns to look at him one last time. „Grow some balls and take him out already. I can’t take this any longer.“

 

That evening Minho ends up picking up Thomas from work again, seated at a table as his friend is too busy wiping the floor, swab held tightly. It’s already dark outside, a wisp of blackness tracing the skies and only a few windows illuminated in the streets. The restaurant is like abandoned, deserted in the almost fully sleeping village, the chairs are stacked and Thomas‘ mop being dragged over the marble tiles is all that can be heard, along their low talking and the soft sighs of Thomas‘ co-worker.

„More flowers,“ Thomas murmurs thoughtfully, „that’s probably the key.“

„I already bought him like twenty bouquets, Thomas.“

„Flowers are romantic, Minho, trust me. You’re so close.“

And that’s when suddenly Thomas‘ co-worker snorts from a few meters away, broom in her right hand as she presses the other to her hip. Both boys immediately turn to look at her.

„What’s so funny, Teresa?“ Thomas asks and this time she starts to laugh lightly, trying to concentrate on cleaning the floors again.

„Don’t even pretend to know something about romance, Tom,“ she murmurs, clearly amused and definitely entertained by the situation.

Thomas’ grip tightens around the swab as his eyes narrow. „I know a lot about love, okay?“

„Just because you enjoy reading those cheesy romance novels doesn’t mean you have any actual knowledge about that shit,“ Teresa reasons, lazily sweeping the dirt into a small heap.

Thomas purses his lips. „The guy gets the girl flowers all the time and she loves it.“

„Before you keep buying flowers you should get to know them.“

And then Minho speaks up. „I know him,“ he says and Thomas says, „He knows him.“

Teresa stops dead in her tracks before turning to face the both of them, elbow prepped on the broom’s stock. „You do?“ she asks, quite unconvinced.

Minho nods. „Alby told me a lot about him and he even knows my name.“

Teresa looks taken aback. „Okay,“ she mumbles, „that’s definitely not what I meant.“

Minho can’t help but stare at her in confusion, brows knitted, and so does Thomas, earning a sigh from the girl.„Have you ever talked to him?“ she asks serious as she tugs a long strand of black hair behind her ear.

„Of course,“ Minho tells her, „Who do you think I am?“

Thomas nods. „Yeah, Teresa, who do you think he is?“

Another sigh dances on her lips, successfully ignoring Thomas‘ needless drivel. „So you have talked to each other about your personal lives?“ she asks Minho instead, watching his face fall with her own expression beyond all hope.

„No,“ he admits, slowly.

„So, you haven’t talked!“

He blinks at her. „I sometimes order something–“

However, she interrupts him, „Okay, okay, stop,“ she commands lightly, „the next time you will see him you’ll try to start a conversation.“

Minho’s eyes flicker nervously. „But he has to work,“ he tries.

„Then you have to show up after his shift ends.“

„With flowers,“ Thomas adds, making Teresa clear her throat as she shows Minho a reassuring smile.

„Cut the flowers for once.“

 

 

So Minho does exactly that. He asks Alby when Newt’s shift ends and suddenly on a Tuesday afternoon he finds himself in front of the bakery again – empty handed. It is 6.39 PM and pink cotton candy clouds are swimming in the pools of the blue summer sky, sunshine turning slowly orange and pressing warm kisses into the nape of Minho’s neck.

He waits for exactly 18 minutes before the light inside the small pastry dies, the glass of the windows now showing Minho’s reflection, his wide eyes and nervous fidgeting. Facing his reflection, he hurriedly tries to fix a few bothering strands of silky black hair, but next there is the soft tinkle of bells and Minho’s head whips into the direction of the door while Newt closes it behind himself, faint jingling of keys following. He’s frozen in place, eying the blond in front of him, gaze tracing the line of his body, puffy sleeves rolled up to his elbows and apron tied messily around his middle. Minho licks his lips, about to say something, but Newt is already turning around and shrinking back in surprise. A small yelp leaves his lips and the two pink boxes inside his arms tremble.

„I’m sorry!“ Minho touches his shoulder softly as if to try to stable him and Newt smiles shyly at him in return.

He exhales in relief. „It’s okay. You just surprised me.“ He ducks his head sheepishly and Minho can’t tear his eyes away. „Do you need anything?“

„I just,“ Minho starts off, so unsure, so hot all over, „I thought we could talk a little bit?“ he tries weakly, „Or I can just take you home.“

„Uh,“ Newt looks stunned for only the split of a second before a beautiful smile spreads across his lips, „sure! I just need to bring these to a friend.“ He raises the two boxes slightly. „Accompany me?“

It’s almost too enthusiastic when Minho tells him, „Yes!“ it’s almost too revealing, but it’s not like he cares, anyway.

But before they start walking Minho takes the boxes from Newt to carry them himself instead and suddenly the blond is talking about apple pie and Minho listens as if he is telling him a thousand secrets.

„Where did you learn all of this?“ he asks eventually and the blond grins.

„My granddad used to own the bakery. I usually worked there in summer break or on the weekends.“

„And he taught you all his secrets and recipes?“

The blond chuckles lightly, a crooked smile following – Minho thinks it belongs in behind a golden frame. „I more of stole them to try them at home,“ Newt confesses, „You know when you have no idea what to get your mom for her birthday? Well, I just decided to bake something.“

Minho smiles himself. „The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,“ he agrees, „Should count for you mother as well.“

„If it was only that easy.“

They both chuckle softly, Newt’s breathy laughs so soft Minho wishes he could catch them inside a jar, keep them forever and let them escape on the black days that are yet to pass, all the days filled with sorrow.

„Do you mind me asking why you’re not already taken yet? It just seems so odd to me,“ Minho eventually croaks and as Newt looks ahead, lips pursed, his gaze roams the blond’s body with greedy hands.

„I don’t know,“ Newt starts off softly, but Minho doesn’t let him finish, nudging him slightly.

„Oh, come on,“ he hums softly and the grin appearing on Newt’s lips fills him with a warm wave of pride.

„Probably, because everyone, who showed interest hasn’t been even half as interesting as one of my cookbooks.“

Minho barks out a laugh, but when they finally reach the house of their destination, wooden fence painted red and no tin postbox in sight, his face falls, grin faltering immediately. Because in the door stands Brenda, smiling broadly as she happily calls out for the blond, „Newt!“ – until she turns to look at Minho.

Newt embraces her briefly, beaming. „Hey, Bren!“ he greets her lovingly, „I’ve brought you something. I know you’ve been working extra hard lately.“

She is quick to mask her discomfort and coos out loud when she peaks inside the upper box, ripping it harshly out of Minho’s grip. „Vanilla crescents!“ she shouts, eyes crinkly, „You’re too sweet for this world.“ And when once again she clings to the blond, she makes sure to glare at Minho secretly, invisible daggers inside her eyes.

„I’d invite you in,“ she mumbles when they part, another swift glance thrown at Minho, „but you look,“ she purses her lips, „busy.“

Newt looks to his right, smile growing on his lips. „Oh, yeah,“ he exclaims, „this is Minho,“ his fingertips softly grace Minho’s arm, leaving a sweet tingling sensation behind, „Minho, this is Brenda.“

They nod at each other, an act put up right in front of Newt, but the blond is painfully oblivious to the tension as his eyes turn into crescents and the sunny smile is swaying between the both of them.

Minho swallows the sigh of relief when Newt eventually speaks up again, saying, „I’ll come back another time, alright?“

And next Brenda is closing the door again and Newt heads off the way back, hands shoved into his pockets as he silently smiles. Minho strolls beside him, closer than before, so close their elbows sometimes brush, sending a satisfying jolt up his arm.

Suddenly Newt looks up to him. „What is it like behind the mountains?“ he asks and Minho’s face twists in surprise.

„Huh?“

The blond smiles a little bit wider. „Chuck said you came from there.“

„Well, actually I’m from America–,“ he says, but Newt cuts him off mid-sentence, bright eyes sparkling with interest and mouth hanging open.

„America?“ he asks stunned and Minho nods. „Are there waterfalls?“

His brows furrow once more, asking, „Waterfalls?“ And then Newt nods eagerly, and his smile is shining so bright, eyes just shining along, Minho really can’t help it, but he immediately restrains his thoughts popping up about biting those sweet curved lips, dragging his tongue along the red. „In Mexico are waterfalls.“

The blond still beams at him innocently, all adorable and shit – Minho gulps. Inappropriate imagines seethe in the pools of his mind, tiny bubbles popping in the hot steam. „Was it beautiful?“ Newt asks.

Minho’s Adam’s apple bobs once more. „Very,“ he croaks eventually and then Newt’s elbow touches his.

„I always wanted to see a waterfall,“ Newt confesses shyly, „because my mother used to tell me about them. She’d been a traveller in her young years; just like you.“

Minho raises his eyebrows. „So you’re trying to tell me you’ve never been anywhere else but here?“

„Sad, isn’t it?“ Newt offers lightly, but then his gaze wanders to his feet, watching the tips of his shoes moving back and fourth as the dirt crunches beneath the soles.

„Why?“

The blond sighs. „I’ve never found the right time,“ he explains softly. „People seem to need me here – almost every day. It feels like I’m inside a cage sometimes.“

„But that’s the thing about traveling,“ Minho tells him, Newt eyes wandering to him once again, making his heart stutter just the slightest bit. „I mean, you can always come back again, but you’ve got to leave everything behind in order of finding something new.“

„And what have you found? This village really can’t be it.“

He purses his lips, eyes trained on Newt’s profile, nose pointy and lashes curved, as he turns his head once more. „It’s more of the people here.“

The other’s eyes narrow, staring at seemingly nothing as questions flood his mind. „Really?“ he asks. And Minho answers, „Yeah,“ but Newt is unaware of the dreamy smile that comes with the breathy hush of those four letters.

 

And it’s when they arrive at Newt’s front door that the sun has sunken lower, almost disappearing behind the rooftops and dipping the tiles in faint pastel colours. June’s warm breath is combing through both their hair as the last rays of sunshine peck their uncovered skin, leaving behind soft tingles and invisible open mouthed kisses. Minho’s eyes wander to the small house, window shutters painted in baby blue and a tin postbox with a dent right on top of it. There is a small porch as well, a picture-perfect white railing coming with it and an old watering pot standing on the wooden slats.

Minho turns to Newt once more, but before he can say anything the blond presses a chaste messy kiss to his right cheek and after a hurried pitter-patter up the stairs of the porch the door is shut loudly. A grin spreads on Minho’s plump lips, teeth baring while he beams at the closed front door.

And then suddenly it becomes a habit to pick up Newt after work and take him home, walking side by side as the sun slowly sets and leaves them inside a faint twirl of pink and orange, the end of each day eating them up and gnawing at their hearts. And June peacefully listens to their conversations – Minho is convinced it loves them just as much as he does. Because talking to Newt turns out to be so terribly easy – Minho compares it to the time he had to work out how to tie his shoes, barely five years old as he proudly showed the neatly tied pair of trainers to his mother and after that, well after that it just got easier to tie his shoes.

Minho loves every aspect about their conversations, from the tilt of Newt’s head when he’s confused to the wrinkling of his nose when he’s amused.

 

 

And one day it goes like:

„I have a cat.“

„Really?“ Minho glances at the blond in interest.

„Well, actually she’s a stray cat, but I like the thought of her belonging to me.“

„She probably uses you in advantage of getting food.“

„Never. Audrey loves me.“

„Audrey?“

„That’s my name for her. Cute, isn’t it?“

„It’s horrible.“

„It’s not!“

„Cats should be named Tinky Winky or Toffee–“

„Oh no. You’re that kind of person.“

„What?“

 

And another day it goes just like:

„You don’t drink coffee?“ Minho asks, aghast.

And Newt crinkling his nose is actually something he could see every day, but then he says, „I despise coffee.“

„What? Coffee is glorious! It’s – it’s like heaven in a cup!“

„It’s gross.“

„What kind of person are you?“

„I drink tea.“

„That’s for old ladies.“

„How dare you?“

  
  
Oh and:

„Don’t tell me your whole life evolves around working.“

Newt sighs. „I don’t find so much time to do anything else.“

„Okay, what do you do to have a good time then? There must be something next to baking that makes you sincerely happy.“

„I like to read?“

„Anything else?“

„That’s stupid, Minho.“

„No, no.“ He shakes his head, eyes trained on the pouting blond. „Come on. What makes you happy, Newt?“

„You really want to know?“

„More than anything else.“

Newt looks unsure for a moment. „Well, back then when my sister still used to live here we – ah, no that’s stupid. Forget it.“

„Newt, come on.“

„Okay so, we,“ and then Newt breaks out into laughter, eyes twinkling,  „we used to steal eggs from the farmer and his dog always,“ a pause, a breathy laugh before continuing, „his dog always went wild and started to chase us until we were in the cornfield and we just ran and ran until we were out of breath and just a mess lying in the dirt and laughing.“

Minho can only smile at him, feeling gross for all those cheesy thoughts filling his mind and the sweet fizzy bubbles popping inside his guts as he watches the blond giggle next to him, eyes turned into crescents and cheeks flushed.

„I know it’s stupid – I just miss it.“

„It’s not.“

 

 

And slowly June begins to take its last breaths, preparing to die inside a grave of wildflowers and lush leaves of grass. Only a few days are left and five days before June’s funeral the wind blows a little bit harder than usual. Minho and Newt are walking close to one another, the back of their hands brushing and bumping and Minho fights the pesky urge to just grab Newt’s warm one and intertwine their fingers. Because the blond’s hair is a mess and his cheeks flushed and it’s really no surprise when Minho’s legs nearly start to wobble as he nervously wraps an arm around Newt’s middle instead so he ‚doesn’t blow away‘.

And then they stand in front of the dainty porch and a sharp yelp of thunder resounds. It’s a call for them to part, but neither of them pays the growling a mind.

Minho’s fingers slowly uncurl from the other’s side, hands suddenly terribly empty. „You better hurry inside and close all of your windows,“ he murmurs gently as he awkwardly shoves his hands into his pockets before he can reach out for the other once more.

Newt smirks. „Don’t tell me what to do.“

„Hey!“ Minho teasingly bumps into him. „I’m trying to be caring.“ And when Newt’s playful smirk turns into an incredibly warm and soft smile, Minho just gapes silently.  
„I know,“ he mumbles before another roll of thunder sloshes above their heads, the bold strike of a lightning following.

Minho glances up the sky, dark charcoal clouds like a thick blanket spreads across the rooftops. „Okay,“ he eventually utters, „I probably should get back to Alby’s.“

And at first Newt just nods and he’s just about to turn around, but the call of his name makes him halt. „Minho!“

He turns around slightly – the uneasy look on the other’s face something so rare. „Yeah?“

„You can come inside?“ Newt offers suddenly and his expression is painted with doubts and diffidence, „I mean to wait until the, uh, thunderstorm is over.“

Minho’s heart is inside his throat. „Sure.“

 

And that’s exactly how Minho ends up with a cup of orange juice on Newt’s couch, hands sweaty on the porcelain as he distracts himself by glancing at the simple furniture and small fire place of Newt’s living room. The blond, however, is in the kitchen, apron dangling over the back of a chair and his shadow dancing across the walls. Minho pretends he doesn’t notice him changing his shirt.

There is a soft shout coming – Minho’s eyes stay glued on the movement of the boy’s shadow. „You really don’t want any tea?“

„Nah, it’s okay,“ he croaks, „orange juice is perfect.“ Newt only laughs in return and Minho breathlessly chuckles along until a faint purring makes him halt. A small white cat appears next to him, firstly nudging his legs with its head before jumping onto the sofa, lazily stretching over his thighs, tail whirling slowly.

„Well, hello, Audrey. I heard a lot about you already,“ he murmurs gently, smiling softly as he pets the cat’s head and strokes its smooth fur. He hisses slightly when it suddenly starts to dig its claws into his thighs in return, purrs becoming louder.

And when Newt eventually pops up in the door to the living room, wide shirt hanging off his slender frame and his face clean of any flour and cream, Minho awkwardly brings the cup of orange juice to his lips, sipping as Audrey keeps purring just as noisily.

„I see you’ve met Audrey.“

Newt sets down his cup of tea, the faint scent of lemon making Minho feel instantly giddy as his eyes stay trained on the blond, who gently pets the purring cat, thin fingers caressing the soft fur. The juice gets caught inside his throat when Newt sits down next to him, so close their knees are touching and thighs pressing into each other and Audrey just happily stretches over the blond’s lap as Minho coughs loudly.

„Did you have pets back at home?“ Newt asks slightly absentmindedly as he draws small circles on the cat’s stomach.

Minho coughs one last time, eyes almost watering before he finally calms down. „When I was younger we had a dog,“ he tells the blond, smiling shyly when their eyes meet, „a Sheltie. His name was–“

Newt cuts him off, hand flying up and almost touching Minho’s lips. „Wait let me guess,“ he exclaims, grin spreading across his lips, „Lightning?“

„No,“ Minho says, „it was Thunder.“ And when Newt groans he can’t help but cackle.

„The poor dog.“

„Thunder had been a happy dog, okay?“

„Okay, okay,“ Newt smiles and then he’s jumping to the next question, never stopping the caressing of Audrey’s smooth fur. „What was your childhood like?“ he asks and the interest twinkling inside his eyes is bending and warping Minho’s poor heart. „I mean you already know about mine, but what was yours like?“

He shrugs simply. „It was normal. I mean, I had two parents, who loved me, friends, and average grades in school. On summer break I was out camping a lot. We used to live near a lake and you know that’s probably like every child’s dream – a lake nearby, a tent, sleeping bag, and marshmallows to toast at night. It was,“ he stops shortly, eyes trained on Newt’s, „it was perfect.“

„So why did you leave?“

„Because I’m not a child anymore,“ Minho reasons, „and there is more out there than just a small lake.“ – God forbid he’d never encountered the blond, the by far most beautiful thing he was allowed to witness.

Newt pouts slightly and Minho loves the way his lips pucker, making them look so painfully kissable. „You make it sound so easy,“ he mumbles.

„What do you mean?“ he asks and Newt says, „I mean to leave.“

He eyes the juice inside his cup. „When your bag’s packed you won’t hesitate anymore,“ he smiles warmly, „Trust me.“

And when Newt eventually asks, „Do you think I can travel someday?“ Minho really can’t help but answer, „That’s up to you, but I would gladly take you with me when the time’s ready.“

 

And they just keep talking and Minho tells Newt about all the places he has already seen, tells him about all the chapters before their story has started. He tells him about another beginning – about April of the year 1906, when he had quit his job at one of California’s oil industries and eventually packed his bags, leaving his home and crossing Arizona, New Mexico and Texas in an unyielding march. He tells the blond about Guatemala’s mountains and Belize’s jungles, about how he crossed the Atlantic Ocean in December as an rather unwanted passenger of a great steam ship and about the heat swallowing him whole as he made his way through the deserts of Africa, six months and 238 weeks with two companions, who luckily stuck to him as soon as he set a foot on the dry land. Newt’s eyes glisten beautifully as Minho tells him about the wide areas of woodland in Russia in a low voice, the rain outside tapping rapidly against the glass of the windows and the wind howling outside, wailing and mewling. They sit pressed into each other as Minho talks about Finland, Sweden and Norway and Audrey purrs in contentment. And Newt’s eyelids become heavier and he looks so painfully gorgeous nearly drowning in his too big shirt and his gaze hazy as he smiles lazily and Minho’s voice becomes slower, dragging the words as he talks about Iceland and the polar lights painting the night skies and he’s not sure if he may be slipping a few comparisons of Newt’s eyes into it, but as soon as Newt nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck he really can’t force himself to care. And he’s about to tell him about Greenland, too, about massive glaciers that hang over the lip of high cols and ice floes and about his way to Great Britain, the way to their story – but Newt has already dozed off  and Minho just sips from his cup until it is empty, sighing happily as Newt’s warmth sticks to him like sugary bubblegum.

It takes a few moments of convincing himself it’s the best to stand up and eventually he succeeds, finding the blond’s bedroom and carefully carrying him to his bed as he watches him lazily – it’s a shame he can’t just lay down next to him, engulf him in warmth and nuzzle his neck before pestering his face with soft butterfly kisses.

However, that doesn’t happen and Minho is back on the blond’s porch in just a matter of minutes, night harsher than he thought it’d be and there’s still the thunderstorm bolting outside, but in the next second the front door shuts loudly behind him and he slumps down on the first step of the wooden staircase. He wants to wait just for the lightning strikes to die, but then he dozes off and it’s half past six in the morning when he wakes up from the front door hitting his back and Audrey scurrying past him. There is a surprised yelp mixing with his own, but when Minho looks up it’s Newt and Newt seems to recognize him as well, luckily.

„What are you doing here?“ he asks confused and Minho only says, „I don’t even know.“ Because, really, he doesn’t.

„Did you sleep here?“

„I think so.“ His face feels awfully hot.

„Bloody moron,“ Newt chides, but Minho doesn’t miss the fond smile following, „get in.“

Minho is dragged inside by his collar and slowly he wets his lips as he eyes the blond more thoroughly, all tangled hair and puffy face, left shoulder bare as the shirt slips low and exposes sharp collarbones all along.

„The next time you can just sleep inside my house instead of in front of it, you know?“

„You fell asleep and I didn’t want to invite myself to do so. I really wanted to leave–“

„Just wake me up then.“

„I couldn’t!“

„Why?“

„That’s just, uh, it’s not polite!“

And as they sit across from each other at the kitchen table, munching quietly on a toast or two, Minho can’t help but notice how painfully pleasant it is to spend his morning with the blond. He wouldn’t complain about spending the rest of his life like that – they can argue over the lack of coffee any other day.

However, everything has an end and this morning does, too, so it really doesn’t take long for Newt and Minho to part ways again, shy smiles and soft murmured ‚See you later’s before Minho is greeted by Alby’s loud shouting.

 

„For fuck’s sake!“ he yells as Minho enters the pension, perplexed expression painting his features, „there you are! Minho, where has your ugly ass been?“

He swallows the invisible lump inside his throat, wetting his lips. „I was,“ he starts, „uh, with,“ a brief moment of eyes searching for an exit out of this situation before, „with Newt?“

And when Alby’s eyes widen, a sudden anger blooming inside his dark eyes, Minho shoots Ben behind the bar a helpless look.

„What the fuck were you thinking?“ Alby shouts and Minho just shouts back that, „It was not like that!“

But Alby really doesn’t seem to believe him – Minho knows, because his brows furrow even more, making him look like he’s trying to read words that are too small. „You were gone the whole night and you tell me it was ‚not like that‘?“

„Are you my dad or something? I took him home and stayed for a while because of the thunderstorm. He fell asleep, I carried him to his bed, and then I was about to leave.“

The bartender crosses his arms in front of his chest. „So why didn’t you leave?“ he asks reproachfully

Minho only rolls his eyes. „It was still raining and shit.“

„Where did you sleep then?“

And then Minho becomes more quiet, his next words nearly inaudible as he coughs to cover his embarrassment. „On his porch.“

Alby quirks a brow, cocking his head in confusion. „What was that?“ he asks and Ben leans slightly over the counter to hear Minho’s repeated words.

„On his porch, okay?“ he nearly shouts, „I fell asleep on Newt’s goddamn porch!“

And it’s so fucking embarrassing when Ben erupts into loud guffaw, laughing like a hyena as his face slowly turns red – and even Alby has to fight a smirk.

„Now, that’s what I call romantic,“ he mumbles, seemingly swallowing the scratching urge to laugh out loud as well. „Keep going and you’ll win his heart for sure.“

Minho stares him down, blank face. „You really are an asshole,“ he states, „can I tell you that?“

„I get that quite a lot, but I guess that’s the reason we understand each other so well, huh?“

Minho huffs and starts working, ignoring Ben’s snickers and Alby’s shit eating grin for the rest of the day.

 

 

However, Minho still takes Newt home day to day – even though he doesn’t get past the porch again. And when the calendar reaches the 28th of June, the month almost over, he picks up Newt again and the blond sticks to his side immediately. There are two dainty arms sneaking and wrapping around Minho’s and a sleepy yawn follows out of the blond’s direction as Minho hopes the racing of his heart will finally slow down.

„Rough day?“ he asks, voice gentle and smile so caring on his lips.

Newt only nods. „Frypan ordered about a hundred pastries for his upcoming anniversary and also the town’s gathering is in two days.“

Minho’s brow quirks at the mention of it. „What’s this gathering even about?“ he eventually asks.

And the blond lightly chuckles in return, head leaning on Minho’s shoulder. „I don’t know,“ he mumbles tiredly, „It holds us all together, I guess.“

„But isn’t it like extremely expensive to plan your small fetes?“

Another yawn slips off Newt’s lips and disappears in front of them. „It’s once a month,“ he says, giggling lightly, „and it’s not like we’re molding our money into golden seat cards and candlesticks.“ Minho’s arm snakes secretly around his waist, the body so warm underneath his fingertips, so soft vividly beneath his palm. „Also it finally gives you the chance to meet everyone properly.“

Minho looks at the other’s playful grin. „Me?“ he asks and Newt breathes a faint, „Yes.“

„Well, I think I’ve met already enough people.“ At that Newt giggles again and Minho’s lips curl, heart leaping inside his chest when the blond nuzzles his neck sleepily, lungs filling with the sweet whiff of vanilla and peaches.

„You’re such a grouch,“ Newt mumbles gently, „the people here are great company, you will see.“

„The only real company I have is Thomas.“

And then suddenly Newt’s head jerks up, looking at him with wide eyes. Minho isn’t sure if the small hint of adoration twinkling inside of them should bother him. „You know Tommy?“ he asks. He sure as hell dislikes it.

„Yeah,“ he answers, „he stuck to me like a bur almost immediately.“

But then Newt’s head is back on his shoulder and he tightens his grip around the blond’s waist – just in case. „Ah,“ Newt hums, „yes, that’s Tommy.“

Minho steals a glance at him, rosy cheeks and golden twirls of hair everything he can see. „You’re close with him?“ he asks, the interest embarrassingly clear inside his voice.

„We grew up together,“ Newt tells him, nose crinkling, „it’s hard not to be.“

„He didn’t tell me.“

„He probably forgot. I mean, seriously, this boy would forget to breathe if it wasn’t a natural instinct of his body.“ And Minho releases a breathy laugh at the other’s words, making him join, snuggling closer.

They walk in a comfortable silence, Minho’s arm still tightly holding the other’s waist as Newt presses into him, so warm and soft. And when they reach the familiar porch, Minho notices the boy’s eyelids drooping.

„Hey, are you falling asleep on me?“ he asks amused as Newt yawns once. „There isn’t even a single star out yet.“

„I don’t care about the stars.“

Minho snickers and grips Newt’s waist a bit tighter, taking the keys from his fumbling hands and the front door. The boy’s weight leans against his own and he’s about to lead him inside before there is a sudden weak grip on his collar holding him back.

„I’m not drunk, you know,“ the blond mumbles lightly, pulling Minho closer to himself until their chest are about to bump. „I can walk on my own.“

A crooked smile dances its way onto Minho’s lips. „I was just trying to be a gentleman here.“

And Newt snorts, lips turning into a smile themselves when he cocks his head adorably. „How can I thank you for your good deed then?“ he asks and Minho’s brows shoot up in suspicion.

„Are you making fun of me?“

Newt grins. „No!“

„Well then – I think a kiss should be enough to express your thankfulness.“

„Now you’re the one making fun of me.“

Minho leans in just a little bit, just close enough to catch a sweet whiff of the other’s shampoo. „Just a peck and I’ll be gone,“ he offers slyly and then Newt actually leans in, wide radiant grin on his face as Minho sees stars, popping up out of nowhere and everything works slower as they leave trails of glimmering dust in between the inches of their faces.

And when the soft whisper rolls off Newt’s tongue, a taunting, „But what if I start and can’t stop?“ Minho can feel a boiling sensation in the pit of his stomach, rasping in return, „You’re worrying about that?“

Newt’s chuckle is light and airy, but before Minho has the time to admire it, soft lips are pressed onto his own and the tiny sparkling stars start spinning and hitting his head, making him feel giddy, powerless, legs wobbly as he holds onto Newt’s hips, in need of an anchor before his knees will eventually give away. And he could’ve kissed the blond for a lifetime, but they break apart after mere seconds and the meek smile on Newt’s face is like a promise of just a flash of something new, something exciting, and Minho has to resist the urge to cup his face and draw him in one more time.

Newt mutters a last ‚Good Night, Minho‘ and Minho nearly thinks it’s just the whisper of the moon still hiding behind the last bits of daylight, but then Newt’s front door is shut and he can only stand and gape.

He nearly trips as he scurries off to run back to Alby’s.

 

„Wow, what’s with the happy face?“ the bartender immediately asks as Minho barges into the pension later.

„It happened!“ he exclaims and the confusion on the others‘ faces speaks volumes.

„What happened?“

Minho wildly flourishes his hands. „Alby, it happened!“ he shouts happily, Ben and Alby exchanging confused looks. And Minho just slumps down onto the floor, laying with his limbs sprawled as the two seem to grow rather concerned, a few guests showering him with distraught glances as they sit at their tables, chatting the evening away.

It’s leaving his lips like a simple breath as he says, „He kissed me.“ And there are really no other words needed.

Ben’s face lights up as Alby looks so utterly and honestly surprised.

„Get up, Minho. The guests are starting to stare and the floor isn’t actually bacteria-free.“

 

 

The next day Minho can’t wait to pick up Newt from work, hands balled into fists as he restlessly bobs up and down in front of the bakery. However, his face falls as soon as the front door opens because this time they’re not alone and Gally walks along with them for sixteen agonizing long minutes filled with awkward silence as Newt’s arm is linked with Minho’s and the blond is smiling softly while Minho clears his throat nervously about five times and Gally stares only ahead, completely unfazed by the situation.

It’s only when the blond’s co-worker’s way parts into a different direction that Newt finally breaks the silence.

„Would you mind helping me tomorrow?“ he asks softly.

„I guess I have to think about that first,“ Minho teases and when Newt punches him slightly he smirks, „Just joking. How can I help?“

„I just need a bit of help with setting everything up and carrying the whole stuff to the glade.“

„Whatever you wish.“

Newt snorts and Minho doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around him, fingers curling around the soft sides.

 

 

And the last day of the month is a Sunday, June as good as dead when Alby allows Minho to take the day off and help Newt instead. Ben is whining loudly, because, seriously, „Why can Minho go and have fun with his boyfriend while I have to clean the toilets?“ Minho just laughs at him, proud of the term ‚boyfriend‘ being used before leaving, the sun still burning mercilessly despite it being already five PM.

The front door of the small shop is locked when he arrives, yet lights on in the back, and after a brief moment Chuck comes rushing to open it for him, smile reaching his eyes.

„Hey, Chuck,“ he greets, immediately earning a joyful, „Hey, Minho. Newt said you’ll be helping us?“ in return.

„You can count on me.“ He grins and in the next second there is already Newt calling out of the back of the empty shop.

„Chuck, I need more of the butter icing!“

„Coming!“

The small boy raids the shelves, taking a few tubes of food colouring, two packs of butter, a bowl and a wooden spoon before he looks back at Minho.

„Could you grab the icing sugar for me, perhaps?“ Minho looks slightly lost just then, turning in circles before Chuck speaks up again, telling him it’s „The blue package on the bottom shelf.“ And after spinning some more he finds it eventually, grabbing it proudly and following Chuck into the back of the shop where Newt is already working, kneading dough as the honey coloured strands fall into his eyes repeatedly.

„I need frosting for about twenty more cupcakes,“ he says, „you can do that?“

Chuck nods eagerly. „Sure!“ he exclaims, „That makes how many tablespoons of milk–“

„About four.“ And the youngest scurries to the fridge, taking out a bottle of milk. „Only a few drops of lemon–“

When Newt looks finally up their eyes meet and Minho averts his gaze quickly, caught in his embarrassing act of staring. A soft giggle resounds and Minho clutches the packet of icing sugar a bit more tightly to his chest. The blond is walking up to him and Minho’s eyes wander from his face to his body and after that into probably every single direction that is far enough from Newt. Because he looks way too good with his honey hair all tangled and the batter on his chin and flour on his hands, apron hugging his slim waist so tightly and Minho really just wants to unwrap him from it, letting his hands roam the soft sides just once.

Newt mutters a gentle „You’re earlier than expected“ and Minho’s fingertips tingle in anticipation as he leans more into him, but the blond grabs a baking mould from the shelf next to him and Minho swears he did it on purpose. Because in the next second he’s turning around and walking back to the worktable and Minho just stares after him, eyes wandering dangerously low.

And Minho tries to help, he really does, but somehow he manages to knock over a packet of flour and drop two eggs and it’s embarrassing, so painfully embarrassing, but Newt laughs and so does Chuck and it’s really not that bad in the end, because Minho notices he really likes the way the blond throws his head back while he guffaws.

And after about an hour they finally leave the bakery, Gally in tow after he returned with two baskets of strawberries, a stack of apples and two punnets of red, black and white currants. Minho is carrying three pink boxes, the scent of freshly baked almond croissants tickling his nose. Chuck is carrying two baskets of cupcakes, Newt the cake and Gally is also carrying another four boxes of apple fritters, cinnamon rolls and cream puffs. And the walk to the village’s glade is filled with carefree chatter, unworried laughter as they talk and Gally walks with them, face blank, but Minho thinks it’s just the way he is.

They set everything up on a table, the pink boxes being untied and Minho watches Newt lazily as he puts everything in its rightful place – circles of cut strawberries and white currants with sweet yogurt tartlets in between, cupcakes in a cluster of their frostings and the cake right in the center. The blond’s tongue is poking out from in between his cherry lips and it’s so inappropriate and incongruous, but Minho would love to have a taste of Newt’s tongue just once, maybe even sinking his teeth into his lower lip and earning a soft mewl for it.

But when more and people join the gathering and it gets darker, the trees being illuminated by soft sparks, chains of lights hanging limply in between the branches, Newt disappears in the mass. Minho swears he’s experiencing a deja vu, eyes trained on the blond when suddenly he disappears and leaves Minho’s head in a dusty cloud of questions and dreams. So he just keeps standing awkwardly in front of the punchbowl, drink in one hand as violins chime and people talk the night away – luckily, he spots Chuck then, who immediately waves at him from his lonely spot in the grass.

Minho joins him, sitting down next to him with crossed legs and the half filled cup inside his left hand.

„Hey, buddy,“ he greets the younger gently, „what’re you doing here so alone?“

„I don’t need all of these adult talks.“

Minho quirks a brow. „Adult talks you say?“ Chuck only nods. „Aren’t there any teens your age?“

„Have you seen any?“ comes the question in return and when Minho let’s his gaze wander among all those heads, he notices, „Actually, no.“

„Because there aren’t,“ the younger says, „I mean, this village is small. My friends live miles away.“

Minho’s face twists in surprise. „Really?“ he asks and Chuck nods once more.

„Mhm,“ he hums in affirmation, eyes now wandering towards the mass of people as well. „I can’t wait to see them again, actually. Their city is so cool! When you’ll continue traveling you must visit it! There is this very great sushi restaurant,“ he exclaims cheerfully, „I mean, I usually don’t even like fish, but it’s fish in rolls of rice and isn’t that just so cool?“

„It is–“

But Chuck doesn’t give him the chance to speak, enthusiastically babbling on. „It’s Asian!“ he tells Minho loudly, „Japanese food!“

„Okay.“

„You look Asian, too, you know.“

„How–“

Once again he’s cut off. „There was once this traveller here, passing by just like you, and he came from Asia! He was born in Beijing, in China, and he didn’t really understand our language, but he learned a few bits and pieces while traveling,“ Minho listens half-heartedly, before, „He had small eyes just like you.“

His brows furrow. „My eyes aren’t small!“

„They are,“ the younger murmurs, pursing his lips, „compared to your nose.“

Minho huffs. „Don’t you have any muffins to serve?“ he asks annoyed before raising the cup to his lips and taking a large gulp of the burning alcohol.

„People can get them on their own, you know.“

„What are you even doing here then?“

Chuck smirks. „I could be asking you the same question.“

„What do you mean?“ Minho asks, not really trusting the playful twinkle in the other’s brown eyes.

„I mean, that you could be flirting with Newt right now instead of just sitting here.“

Minho gulps awkwardly, fingertip running along the rim of his cup. „I don’t flirt with Newt,“ he says – however, he doesn’t even believe himself so it really isn’t a surprise when Chuck murmurs, „Hey, whatever helps you sleep at night.“

And he is about to protest once more when suddenly he spots Newt in between the crowd of people, talking to Thomas and smile shining so bright. It is quiet then for a moment as Minho narrows his eyes, watching the red liquid inside his cup as he tilts it from one side to other before he speaking up.

„Hey, Chuck,“ he mumbles, tongue wetting his lips once and twice.

The other looks up to him. „Mh?“

„Is Newt like…,“ Minho hesitates, clearing his throat, „you know?“

Chuck’s brows raise, but Minho really doesn’t think he wants to look him in the eye right now. „Into you?“ he asks teasingly, „Interested in you? Totally head over heels for you?“

Minho rolls his eyes. But then he nods. „Yeah.“

„I don’t know,“ Chuck tells him truthfully, a slight smile forming on his lips, „I’m not an expert, but I do know that he is happy when you’re around.“

And that’s pretty much all he needs. His lips curve slightly and then he ruffles Chuck’s hair, standing up as he shoves his drink into the boy’s hand. „See you around, shuckface,“ he mutters gently – and then he is gone, Chuck only staring after him, face twisting in disgust when he sniffs the liquor inside his hand.

Minho heads off into the mass of bodies, diving into the huddle of laughter and movement as his eyes scan over each and every face, searching for his favourite one. And then he spots it, Newt swaying from side to side as he throws an arm around Thomas’ neck, visibly amused and overflowing with joy. Everything seems so familiar but yet so strangely different to when Minho saw him for the first time – it hasn’t been quite as colourful, not as loud and lively – but he liked it nevertheless.

He sneaks up behind the blond, palms coming to rest on the narrow waist. And when Newt turns around, so dangerously close to him and nearly spilling his drink, he starts to beam so bright, eyes in crescents as they twinkle prettily. Newt’s eyes are more beautiful than every meteor shower Minho had every the chance to witness – it’s been eight.

„Minho!“ he shouts happily and – goddamn – Minho’s heart starts to swell. „Where have you been? You just disappeared!“

He smiles, hands never leaving the boy’s hips. „I’ve been talking to Chuck for a moment.“

And Newt’s eyes crinkle, laughter lines visible and bangs falling into his eyes, when suddenly his arm around Thomas neck loosens and he clings to Minho’s side instead, arms winding around his middle. Minho would be lying if he said that small act didn’t make him proud.

„Have you met anyone else yet?“ he asks, gummy smile making Minho’s fingertips prickle.

He hums in confirmation. „I saw the flower guy and Teresa earlier.“ And then Newt hums as well, seeming pleased with the other’s answer as he leans his head against his chest. Minho instantly notices the sweet scent of fruit punch whirring around him like fireflies in mild May nights.

But then all of a sudden his head pops up again, eyes wide with excitement. „You wanna dance?“ he asks eagerly and Minho erupts into a nervous coughing fit, eyes helplessly darting to Thomas, who only offers him a lopsided smile in return.

„Dance?“ he chokes miserably and the blond nods, shoving his cup into Thomas‘ hand before throwing both of his arms around Minho’s neck. And suddenly dancing sounds not so bad anymore. Minho’s face heats up slightly as he hesitantly grips Newt’s hips once more.

„Yes,“ Newt exclaims, „dance!“

„How much have you had to drink already?“

And then the blond giggles. „Only a bit,“ he murmurs, „isn’t that right, Tommy? Only a bit.“ He looks briefly at Thomas, the boy nodding at him in affirmation, but as soon as he turns around again Thomas is shaking his head and Minho can’t help, but smile at the blond in front of him in adoration.

He puffs out his chest. „I’ll guide!“

But before they go Minho takes Newt’s cup out of Thomas‘ hold and drinks the liquid in one go. He wrinkles his nose as the strong taste of alcohol makes his throat burn slightly before he passes the cup back to Thomas, clapping his back with a wink until his hands are on Newt’s waist once more, dragging the giggling blond to where a few people are dancing. The people around them are mainly a few couples Minho doesn’t know, but he even spots Teresa tangled in the arms of the devil – Brenda looks terribly content as they sway from side to side. The music, however, is being played live – it’s a small band, two guys with a guitar, another one with a violin and a girl sitting on a cajon. And it’s joyful and loud and Minho really enjoys it and when he comes to a halt Newt is grinning at him, looking so awfully gorgeous inside his arms, fitting so painfully perfect into the curve of them.

„Don’t expect too much,“ Minho warns the other, soft smile gracing his lips, „I’m not exactly a dancer.“

And Newt chuckles in return. „Neither am I.“

And really, they aren’t – They step on each other’s feet way too many times, they stumble and bump into one another, but they laugh it off every time. Time flies, it flies so fast, faster than every flash of a shooting star, and sometimes when the music stops they have a drink or two before swaying to the music once more. Newt is laughing and his cheeks are tinted a bright red, honey hair sticking to his forehead as he twirls in circles and lets Minho spin him once in a while, looking so ethereal, so breath-taking in the blurry haze of the night, beneath small dots of light and flashes of stars. The white apron is lying somewhere in the grass and his thin shirt is clinging to his slim frame – Minho is not afraid to let his hands caress the boy’s sides, not afraid to press his palm into the boy’s lower back, fingertips caressing the two dimples. And the first three buttons of Minho’s shirt are undone as he feels it stick to him like a second skin, but it doesn’t bother him – nothing seems to be able to do so.

And when more time ticks by, alcohol warm inside their guts, Newt suddenly leans in, lips right next to Minho’s ear, breath hot in the chilly summer night.

„Let’s go somewhere else,“ he says and a shiver runs down Minho’s spine as he grabs the other’s waist more firmly, feeling hot bubbles seethe inside his stomach, looking at Newt’s face – eyes so dangerous, lips so sinful.

 

They escape from the gathering, both slightly tipsy and giddy and it’s so different to the time Minho escaped it on his own. Newt is giggling again, hands clinging to Minho’s arm, and Minho is grinning while guiding the blond further away, legs wobbly and throat dry as the night swallows them up hungrily, everything dark but their smiles beaming brightly. And he really doesn’t know where he’s heading, but he does remember the way to Newt’s home so he tries to go there instead until he is stopped by the blond’s protests.

„I don’t wanna go home just yet, Min!“ he whines loudly and something twists inside Minho when he hears the nickname roll off those sweet lips.

„Where else do you wanna go then?“

 

He should’ve feared the smirk appearing as Newt tugs at his hand, palm so incredibly soft inside his, fingers fitting just perfectly into the spaces between his own. He should’ve asked for a clarification as he is dragged into the opposite direction – straight to the small farm of the village. But all he does is follow startled, irritation visible in wrinkles on his forehead when Newt halts in front of the farm’s chicken coop, everything silent and the moon the only light source.

The blond turns around, toothy grin making Minho’s knees go weak and tickling the question right out of his throat. „What’s going on inside that pretty little mind of yours, huh?“

Newt lowers his head bashfully, grin ever present as he fumbles with Minho’s fingers. „If you win the game, you’ll get a kiss,“ he eventually murmurs and Minho straightens his back in a thrill of anticipation, breathing becoming ragged.

„Mind telling me the rules then?“ he breathlessly asks in return and instantly the twinkle in the other’s eyes is back.

„It’s easy,“ he says „grab as many eggs as possible and run faster than the dog afterwards.“

And just like that a last small grin is sent towards Minho before the blond disappears inside the wooden shack, hands untangling, and Minho really doesn’t know what to do so he hurries after, utterly startled. But before he can properly grasp the situation – Newt sneaking up to the sleeping hens‘ nests in the blackness of the night – there is already loud clucking and screaming tearing apart the silence as the blond reaches for two eggs at the same time, making the hens jump and wake the rest inside the coop.

Minho freezes, looking over to Newt with wide eyes while he tries to grab even more eggs and then it clicks inside his mind and he reaches for some eggs as well, hissing when some hens start pecking at his arms and fingers, plumes flying and small chicken feet kicking him. More and more hens awake and it gets so loud as they gurgle and cackle and Minho almost doesn’t notice, but Newt suddenly dashes out of the shack again, only the shimmer of honey hair flashing in the corner of Minho’s eyes. And Minho halts, ripping a last egg from under the poor hen’s puffy buttocks before he runs after the other.

However, outside he turns in circles, eyes searching for the familiar slender figure, when suddenly the low bark of a dog resounds behind him. Minho straightens his back as his eyes widen in alarm. He turns around, slowly, very slowly, eyes half open because he’s too afraid what kind of sight will greet him. And it’s a big dog – Newt definitely didn’t mention that – and just for a moment longer he stands frozen, five eggs inside his arms as the mastiff faces him with a terrifying growl.

„What the bloody hell are you waiting for?“

It’s like a shout sent from the gods above and Minho’s thoughts shatter immediately as he finally spots Newt, half of his body swallowed by the large cornfield behind the coop, and starts running in his direction. The pathetic whines and terrified cries luckily get caught inside his throat when in a flash the dog follows after him, chasing him, so close on his heels and barking so loud. But Minho keeps running until his lungs hurt and his throat feels too dry and Newt is always right in front of him, always just an arm length away as the corn plants whip their skin harshly and some eggs crash and crack.

The dog is left behind in the first quarter of the cornfield, the barking eventually dying down and Minho is still running, looking ahead until Newt stops abruptly and he crashes into him from behind, both of them slumping down to sit on the ground, crushed corn plants and dirt underneath them. Minho is panting hard and Newt starts laughing, starts laughing breathlessly out of nowhere and between short gasps for air it gets louder. And it’s so ridiculous, everything about this situation is just plain ridiculous and Minho just can’t help but join the sweet laughter until it’s just their joy filling the night. He ignores the yolk on his chest and eggshells sticking to it, only Newt’s smile a distraction and the way a strand of his blond hair sticks into the air. And that’s how a moment passes – or two – before Newt properly sits up, breathing heavily and toothy smile reaching his eyes.

„That was –“ he gulps once, „that was legendary.“

The laughter turns into giddy giggling and Minho grins at him, admiring the way he’s practically shining beneath the moonlight.

„That dog almost bit my ass,“ he pants between his joyful guffaw, „I swear! At one point it was so close!“

Newt throws his head back, throat exposed as he laughs louder. „You didn’t even run at first!“ he exclaims and Minho chuckles at him.

„I was shocked, okay? You didn’t tell me that beast was the size of a grizzly bear!“

„It isn’t!“

„It totally is!“

Newt’s laughter is softer than each and every breath of wind brushing their hair. „You’re so dramatic.“

And the blond is still laughing when Minho calms down, head cocked as he smiles at him - the weakness so visible inside his dark eyes. „But hey,“ he says and then Newt looks up to him, cheeks red and hair a golden mess.

„Yeah?“

He smiles wider. „I won the game.“

However, Newt only snorts in return, placing four eggs next to him, their bodies nearly drowning in the dirt. „No,“ he states proudly, „you didn’t.“

Minho glances at the eggs beside himself – two, only two eggs are left. God only knows where the other eggs landed. „What?“ he asks surprised, „Yes, I did!“

The blond shakes his head and purses his lips. „I got more eggs than you,“ he says and when he pokes out his tongue, Minho moves closer – just slightly.

„The smashed one on my chest totally counts as a half one.“

„Still.“

Minho rolls his eyes. „You didn’t mention I had to have more than you, though.“ And when Newt only looks at him, he raises both of his eyebrows. „You promised me a kiss!“

Newt’s head is thrown back once more as he laughs out loud. „You’re such a crybaby.“

Minho grins. „What was that?“ And when suddenly Minho attacks the other, pushing him to the ground, the sound of a faint crack follows.

Newt whines loudly. „Minho!“ His laughing is ringing silvery and clear yet again as he tries to push the other off of him, but Minho just continues to hover above him, pressing down harder, their chests against one another.

„Minho,“ Newt mumbles, „there is a crushed egg beneath me and I can feel it drenching my shirt. Would you do me a favor and get off me?“ he asks, whining, „Please?“

A smirk comes with the next answer. „I’m not sure if I can do that.“ And when the other just keeps whining, calling out Minho’s name in such desperate ways, he can’t help but say, „Give me a kiss and I’ll get off of you.“

„Never!“

„You promised!“

„I don’t give a shit!“

And that’s all it takes for Minho to cup Newt’s cheeks and let their lips crash, making the other stop squirming. Next Newt’s hands are on Minho’s back and suddenly the egg beneath his own is forgotten.

„You’re such a brat,“ Minho mumbles softly, thumb running over the other’s bottom lip gently. „Am I the only one who knows this side of you?“

„I have a lot of sides nobody knows about.“

„Mind me getting a sneak peek?“

But Newt only smacks his shoulder, kissing him again, neck craning and lips like licorice. And suddenly their tongues meet and Minho’s palms press into the other’s hipbones as he explores Newt’s mouth eagerly – it’s like exploring the forest nearby his grandmother’s holiday home in summer break twelve years ago, the exciting feelings when he spots a small pond with koi carps swimming inside and the adrenaline when he climbs the highest maple tree he can spot.

Minho rolls over onto his back, pulling Newt on top of him, hands tugging at the waistband of the boy’s shorts and chests pressing against one another, slightly sticking because of the yolk. Newt smiles into the kiss – Minho pecks it once and twice before he runs the tip of his nose softly along the blond’s cheek, nuzzling the crook of Newt’s neck shortly after and planting sweet kisses behind his ear, making him shuffle and giggle lightly.

„We’re kissing inside a cornfield,“ he whispers and Minho loves the way another giggle pops like a bubble between them when he presses a soft kiss to Newt’s jaw.

„So?“ he asks.

And Newt just murmurs, „Isn’t that an odd place to kiss someone?“

And Minho just says, „I could kiss you everywhere.“

Newt’s smile is luminous as he takes Minho’s face inside his hands then, palms soft and warm against his skin and Minho’s head is in the clouds when the blond places a long wet kiss on his lips. Almost naturally, Minho’s fingers dance their way to the bump of Newt’s back, running them smoothly over his ass until his palms come to rest on the back of the covered thighs. Newt drags him up, palms never leaving his face as he presses his body further into Minho’s. Minho’s fingers creep their way further up again, cupping the other’s ass while letting his tongue run along the sweet lower lip, making Newt mewl softly – needy whines and mewls, that shoot tingles up Minho’s spine and jolts through his veins.

„Nothing’s holding you back.“ It’s only a breathless whisper rolling off those sinful cherry lips and Minho had almost forgotten what he meant – almost.

So they keep kissing until the ground feels too hard beneath them and the gushes of the wind become too harsh to bear and Minho remembers holding Newt’s hand as they walk the way back to Newt’s home, hair a mess, lips swollen and puffy and clothes covered in dirt and egg white. He remembers the shallow sound of the music still playing meters away in the glade of the village as he focuses on the light thumps his and Newt’s feet leave as they walk along the sidewalk. Remembers ‚thump, thump, thump, thump‘ and then the softest smile and whispered goodbye. Minho remembers Newt’s lips on his for the last time before the night swallows him whole and he leaves, aware of the lights being switched on behind the glass of the small house’s windows.

 

 

And then Minho remembers a day going by without Newt, a day with a painful headache and scrubbing toilets for two solid hours. Alby tells him Newt always takes the day after the gathering off, the town is always dead afterwards and that night Minho falls asleep inside his sleeping bag with only the blond on his mind.

 

 

However, the butterflies start to whirr again when Minho picks Newt up the other day – the third of July to be exact. Newt’s smile is as bright as always, his hair a soft whirl of blond and his cheeks dusted with a blush that reminds Minho of his mother’s wildflowers. Newt’s fingers are still incredibly soft between his own, radiating with a warmth that beats July’s hot summer breath all the way and the kiss they share that very evening is just so good, tasting of fresh innocent admiration and putting nearly everything Minho thought he knew about love to shame. And summer wraps itself around Minho’s mind in a mushy twist, like thin silk and thick dust of pollen and he nearly loses the ability to think about anything else but Newt, day after day ending with a kiss as Minho stands on the boy’s porch, seeing him close the door again and again, each time the wood of the door stepping between them and taking the chance from Minho to see more of the beautiful boy.

 

 

But exactly sixteen days into July a different day occurs and when the door is just about to close, Minho finds himself shoving a foot in between the gap, making Newt stop and cock his head in confusion. Minho doesn’t know why, but in that moment he notices how pretty Newt’s eyelashes are, dark and long and fluttering confusedly.

„I,“ he starts hesitantly, „I just,“ he exhales curtly, licking his lips once, „are you perhaps interested in, uhm, dinner?“ Minho eventually asks and the surprised look on Newt’s face makes his stomach churn. „I mean, would you – would you like to eat dinner?“ he adds nervously, „With me?“

Newt’s eyes are wide, big and full of stars. „Right now?“

„No!“ Minho rushes in return, but then he eyes flicker nervously from the other’s eyes to his lips and back up again. „I mean, uh, maybe on Saturday? I could,“ a short shake of his head, „We could go to the one where Thomas works? The restaurant!“ And it’s so terribly embarrassing, Minho almost sweating, face so hot and palms definitely moist as he clenches and unclenches them again and again, sometimes clawing at the fabric of his shorts. „I mean you don’t – you don’t have to – really!“ he sputters, „I just–“

But then, finally, the blond cuts of his nervous stammering. „Minho,“ he softly says and said male looks directly at Newt then. And suddenly there is a pair of lips on his again – a soft pair of lips, so incredibly soft –, calming him down immediately and giving him a taste of what his mind evolves around. And then Newt lets go and the smile on his lips just makes Minho want to get another taste. „I would love to.“

He stares stunned. „Okay!“ he exclaims, „I mean, great. I’ll pick you up then, yeah?“

„Yeah,“ the blond breathes lightly in return and the curve of his lips grows just the slightest bit, but Minho loves the shyness of it.

„Okay!“ he says once more, „Good, okay! Uhm,“ his eyes dance between the spots next to Newt’s head, „bye then? I mean, see you tomorrow!“

„See you tomorrow, Min.“

 

 

It’s really no surprise when he turns into a nervous wreck by Saturday – almost five PM when Alby lets him go and he stumbles around in the basement, sleeping bag crumbled on the poor mattress in the middle of the tiny room and Ben standing in the door frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

„Do you really wanna wear that?“ he suddenly asks, but Minho doesn’t spare him a single glance.

„Why are you asking?“ he looks down at himself, one leg inside his shorts as the other still hangs free, „What’s wrong with that?“

The blond shrugs. „I’m just saying,“ he utters, „I mean, I haven’t really known you for long now, but this whole time you’ve worn two different pants and maybe four various shirts.“

Minho rolls his eyes, finally coming to a halt and facing Ben. „I don’t really have that much money to spend it on irrelevant stuff,“ he reasons and he’s just about to put his other leg into his pants when Ben asks, „Looking like a decent human being is irrelevant?“

He jumps slightly and eventually buttons his pants. „I shower!“ he exclaims defensively, „Also I wash my clothes!“

The other huffs. „Waiting for rain to hang them outside doesn’t count.“

„I don’t–“

„Listen, buddy,“ Ben cuts him off, „I’ll lend you a decent shirt, you’ll get Newt some flowers, treat him like a gentleman, and, voilà, he’ll fall in love with you in no time.“

For a moment Minho just stares at the blond, eyes in slits as he eventually asks, „What is the catch?“

„The catch?“ Ben laughs dryly, „Come on, Minho! We are buddies! There is no catch.“ But as soon as Minho raises both of his eyebrows at Ben, the blond reveals his true intentions. „Get me a box of Newt’s cinnamon rolls and you can even keep my shirt.“

 

And that’s exactly how Minho ends up in a white button up, shorts barely covering his knees and the sun kissing his face with full force as he exits the flower shop. It’s 6.27 PM and his palms are sweaty when he knocks on the white front door, familiar bouquet of buttercups held tightly, almost so tightly his knuckles turn white. And when the door swings open Minho’s gaze is glued to bare knees before slowly traveling up the other’s body, Adam’s apple bobbing visible as he gulps. Newt looks stunning – even though that shouldn’t be much of a surprise anymore – and Minho really can’t help but gape at exposed collar bones and the curve of a bashful smile as long dark lashes flutter shut. It feels like being caught inside a dream, fragrance of nectarines and bourbon vanilla wrapping around the both of them as they stand in front of each other, smiles soft and hearts leaping inside their chests, feeling like they’re bumping against rib cages and flinging against bones, making them jitter.

„These are,“ he clears his throat, „these are for you.“ And then Minho shoves the bouquet of buttercups into Newt’s hands, the blond’s face hidden behind a large tangle of yellow petals.

He lowers it, eyes turning into crescents as he smiles like the sun itself. „They’re beautiful,“ he murmurs shyly, „thank you.“ And then he cranes his neck, chin resting above the flowers, as he presses a chaste kiss to Minho’s left cheek – Minho wonders how it is possible to turn into a spluttering mess this easily.

„You’re beautiful! I mean, you’re – you’re welcome.“

„I’ll just put them inside a vase real quick, then we can leave.“

Newt giggles lightly and when he disappears Minho exhales a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding in, palms running over his face in a frustrated manner as he tries to regain his composure. It drives him insane, really – how Newt is able to make him stumble over his own words, making him feel all jittery and nervous until each and every embarrassing memory follows him into his dreams. It drives him insane just how the blond is able to move him like a puppet and yet is breathing in life into his limp bones, giving him so much power, so much will.

And when Newt returns he shoots up straight, the painful beating of his heart back as the blond shuts the door behind him and links his arm with Minho’s. He says, „Nice shirt. It looks good on you.“ and Minho can’t help but smile, finally falling into step with the blond as they leave for the restaurant.

And the round ebony tables there are occupied, waiters with packed silver tablets rushing in circles, joyful chatter ringing out of every corner, followed by the quirkiest laughter and the high clatter of cutlery against the plates. There are candles set in the middle of each table, a vase holding white lilies in addition, and rich chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, dangling from above with strings of diamonds and a cluster of candles. The food is served still hot, put together with thought and dedication and Thomas wiggles his eyebrows each time he passes their table. However, Minho likes the dessert best – their conversation still flowing with giggles and smiles that come and go like a soft hush rushing from one side of the candle in between them to the other. Newt’s face lights up as he takes a spoonful of almond ice cream and offers it to Minho, claiming it’s the best thing he’ll ever taste. And when Minho lets the blond shove the spoon inside his mouth it tastes like normal ice cream, simple and sweet, but he pretends it’s better than each flavour he ever had – even better than mint chocolate chip – and Newt’s smile is so bright, teeth all bare and the laughter lines at the rim of his eyes all crinkly and visible and Minho can’t help but think almond ice cream will be his favourite flavour from now on.

Minho makes Newt laugh a few times, each time a glorious proud feeling bubbling inside his stomach along with the sparkling wine that fills his glass. They talk about everything and anything, Minho telling Newt about his old best friend Harriet, about her frizzy black hair and the colourful sticking plasters on her knees – he tells him about Winston, how they always believed they were secretly brothers, but their parents just didn’t want to tell them. And Newt listens so attentively, chin propped in the palm of his right hand and Minho is sure he is so terribly in love.

When they leave the restaurant, bills on the table and glasses empty of every bit of sparkling wine, Minho takes Newt by the hand. It is already late, but Minho really couldn’t care less because all he knows is that the sun is hidden behind pink cotton candy clouds, a whiff of grey shadowing above and all he can think about is the way Newt looks so breathtaking in front of a burnt down torrid sky, the tips of each roof painted in a bright orange and last bits of the evening kissing power poles and weathercocks as Newt’s face radiates like the sun itself – Minho doesn’t have to miss it when it disappears behind tree crowns and chimneys eventually.

They talk quietly, Newt muttering something about his sister’s boathouse in Scotland when all of a sudden one tiny drop after the other hits their noses. They shrug it off, Minho silently taking Newt by the waist – but when it gets heavier and heavier by the minute they start running as Minho grabs the boy’s hand instead. Newt is giggling slightly and when Minho nearly trips he laughs a little harder. They run through puddles, water splashing in every direction and Newt is just laughing, trailing helplessly behind the other.

„Take it slow, Min,“ he calls softly against the harsh pitter-patter, „it’s just water, we’ll survive.“

But Minho doesn’t answer and in the next moment he pulls Newt under the roof of an old furniture shop instead, closed sign hanging over door handle and swaying from side to side in the slight gust. Both are nearly dripping wet already, hair sticking to their foreheads and clothes clinging to their frames, but Newt still manages to look breathtakingly beautiful and Minho can just look at him and his wide eyes, full of constellations and Milky Ways. Their fingers are still interlocked and while Newt keeps giggling slightly, Minho can just keep looking at him and feel the weight of his hand inside his own – it’s a lovely feeling, innocent and delicate like the flutter of a butterfly.

„Now that you’ve saved us – what’s next?“ the blond teases.

„Next, I’ll get a kiss as a reward.“

A sly grin spreads across the other’s face. „I don’t think that’s how it works,“ he murmurs.

„That’s exactly how it works.“

Minho grabs his waist and pulls him closer and there is proudness and an overwhelming wave of adoration blooming inside his chest like the prettiest sunflowers when a giddy smile pulls on those cherry lips, blush spreading so satisfyingly. Minho’s face gets closer to Newt’s, the line of his nose running along the blond’s cheek before he asks him, „Pretty please?“ in a small whisper that creeps down Newt’s wet shirt and of course Newt kisses him. He presses their lips together, moist and creating an explosion of butterflies and rose petals beneath the heavy weight of the rain. Minho’s fingers creep slowly beneath the seam of Newt’s shirt, thumbs rubbing tenderly over the smooth exposed skin of his stomach as Newt wraps his arms around Minho’s neck lazily, tongue sweet on Minho’s and tasting of sparkling wine and peaches.

Fingertips dance higher, further up the milky chest, drawing lines up Newt’s body and making him breathe a little harder through his nose in return. The blond cups his cheek then, pressing forward even more until his tongue discovers each spot and their bodies are pressed firmly together, weakly gripping onto Minho’s shoulders when his ass is cupped and squeezed. He nearly chokes on his next breath and when they part Minho nearly panics because Newt might didn’t like it, but then Newt is lunging forward again, lips so heavenly on Minho’s, and Minho stumbles backwards, pulling the boy with him right into the rain. A tingle runs down his spine and goosebumps kiss his arms, sky’s teardrops hard on his skin, but then Newt is pushing him further into the rain until they’re completely exposed to the charcoal coloured clouds.

And it’s so cheesy – as if it was cut out of a cheaply produced romance movie. And Minho waits for the director to yell, „Cut!“ at them, but it never comes and the rain just keeps pouring and Minho realizes this is real, it is real and Newt’s body is engulfed within his arms, his lips occupied by his own and this only stops when both of them decide to end it, there is no resecheur able to make them halt, nobody able to write between the lines of their story.

Newt leans back lazily in the fold of Minho’s arms around him, eyes closed as a few droplets run down his eye lids, getting caught in his lashes. And he smiles, Minho’s lips kissing the sweet curve, two, three times before they look at each other eventually.

„I guess, you couldn’t quite save us from the rain at all,“ Newt says and his voice is so soft and his smile like a ray of sunshine in the sudden change of weather.

Minho hums in return. „Maybe I didn’t even need to,“ he murmurs back, „it’s just water after all, right?“

And Newt’s smile grows. „Right.“

Minho chases after the other’s lips another time, breathy chuckles rolling off the blond’s tongue in return as Minho’s hands grab his sides. He leans out of reach, giggles and laughter escaping him when Minho suddenly starts kissing his neck instead, small pecks scattered up the line of his throat.

Newt squirms and Minho grins. And when the blond escapes his arms he chases after him, dirty water of small puddles soaking his shoes and socks as he runs after his love. And Newt is laughing, loud and carefree, and Minho’s grin almost hurts. He’s so close behind him and when finally they reach Newt’s house, he crashes into him from behind, caging him in as Newt is about to turn around in front of his door.

Minho has both of his hands propped next to Newt’s head, the other grinning as he licks his lips, their heavy breaths colliding in the middle.

„Gotcha.“

Newt’s eyes flicker briefly to his lips. „Congratulations,“ he utters lightly, „now you just gotta keep me.“

Minho leans in further, the tip of his nose connecting to Newt’s in a faint Eskimo kiss. „Trust me, I will.“

It’s really no surprise to either of them when their lips meet another time that day, consuming as much of the other as possible. Minho cradles the blond’s chin inside his hand, holding him down as he licks into his mouth, controlling yet still compliant as he tickles each and every short whimper out of the other. Newt’s fingers fist the wet fabric of Minho’s shirt, it already being see-through as the blond pulls at it weakly, like a silent begging for more.

And they just keep kissing for a moment or two, their foreheads wet against one another, some cold drops running down their backs, their temples and their necks. Minho is almost disappointed when Newt’s lips leave his, only the faint taste of his tongue left on his own.

Softly he runs his thumb along Newt’s lower lip, other hand holding him steady by his hip. „It was a beautiful evening with you,“ he confesses lowly, but as soon as Newt murmurs a taunting „There is still a night to spend together“ he swears he loses his mind.

He feels his heart swell and blood rush faster through his body as Newt unlocks the door, fumbling with the keys as they jingle and the rain outside keeps hitting the pavement. And then there is a hand grabbing Minho’s collar as he is being pulled inside the house. He kicks it closed before following Newt blindly, their lips already molded together once again and their shoes leaving patches of dirt in the corridor as they messily scatter them across the floor.

Minho tastes the temptation prickling on Newt’s tongue, rubbing off onto his own and eagerly he grabs Newt’s hips, hoping they’d build an anchor, hoping they’d help him steady his feet and thoughts. The other’s dainty fingers creep up his face, along his jawline until they are buried in between wet black strands of hair, tugging and pulling weakly and making Minho believe only tiny pieces of sanity are left inside the back of his mind. Because he loses it from second to second more, eyes hooded as Newt unbuttons his shirt, the piece of clothing hitting the floor with a faint wet smacking.

He gets pulled further through the house, blind to his surroundings as Newt’s taste on his tongue is all he can sense. They bump into door frames and sharp edges of tables and the blond is laughing breathlessly, giggles dancing over his lips and onto Minho’s, tasting of chocolates and bliss. Cold fingertips patter across his bare chest in the rhythm of the rain outside and Minho presses more into the kiss when Newt begins to trace the muscles of his back slowly.

Bumping into yet another door frame, Minho is pulled into a room with the lights dimmed and windows tilted. Hot palms press into his nape before slowly they settle on his shoulders, kneading and stroking until they glide down his back, nearly ghosting. He groans, hands groping and pulling the other closer by his hips, so sinfully close the tension sparks into a hot flame between them. Newt is pressed so tightly into his body and Minho feels his avidity squeeze against his pelvis, audible in shy mewls slipping off those cherry lips. One by one he is losing his mind, the whimpers in his ears like helpless words that aren’t spoken and making him feel so hot and bothered.

He attaches his lips to Newt’s neck, nibbling and biting as the other squirms slightly, hands on Minho’s shoulders. Newt smells like fresh earth and wild roses and every time Minho inhales, a part of summer settles inside his lungs, sowing seeds and watering nonexistent daisies and cornflowers. His palms roam the blond’s stomach, secretly dipping beneath the fabric of his wet shirt and pressing into the hot skin. He tugs at the seam, pulling it over Newt’s head and then his lips are attacked eagerly by the other’s, tongue swiping over his upper lip. Arms wrap around his neck, hauling him closer into the blond’s warmth as his palms slide down Newt’s lower back, squeezing his ass just a tad bit.

„Is this always how your dates go?“ Newt suddenly asks, teasingly running the tip of his nose along the other’s jaw.

Minho’s eyelids droop slightly as he focuses on the red bitten lips now formed into a smile. „I usually don’t have time for dates,“ he murmurs breathlessly, „but you are an exception.“

He dives into another passionate kiss before scattering light pecks along the line of the other’s neck once more. He hears him giggle giddily and slowly he sinks lower, kissing along his milky chest and fingertips fondling the smooth skin gently. Slowly, he takes off Newt’s pants, watching his cheeks flush and breathing becoming more ragged.

Oh, how beautifully wrecked he looks, so fully and downright demolished by Minho’s touches. Newt’s skin reminds of ivory and delicate china, tasting like peaches as Minho licks just above the waistband of his boxers, tongue dipping briefly into the navel. Newt’s skin is adorned with moles and Minho kisses the two on his inner thigh, nipping at the soft skin as fingers helplessly take hold of his damp hair.

It’s sinful and heavenly at once – angels crying from above when Newt loses the last piece of clothing. Minho lays him down on the mattress of his bed, hovering above the blond as his back sinks into the plush cushion. Minho’s feet tangle inside the silken bed sheets and he’s kissing along the other’s inner thighs when he tries to kick the blanket off the bed. However, it takes a moment and Newt only giggles before he whines again, Minho nibbling at his sensitive skin.

It’s a lot of sweet kisses and breathless laughter, a gust of warm tenderness and lusting touches, before Minho realizes the blond is whimpering beneath his fingertips. They are both bare, vulnerable and gleaming with still wet skin from the harsh rain outside, that hammers and hammers against the glass of each window. Inside Minho’s head there is a bittersweet chaos, each mewl of his lover taking him higher up the sky, and when he let’s his fingertips dance up Newt’s thighs, seated in between them, he notices the slight shaking of his wrists. So overwhelmed, he is so overwhelmed.

„You’re so fucking beautiful,“ he utters in a thick whisper, head dipping as the tip of his nose travels up the other’s stomach, butterfly kisses placed on the warm skin.

Newt smiles softly, palms cupping Minho’s face when they are finally looking at each other again, lips connecting. „Bloody idiot,“ he mumbles in return.

And next comes a storm of intimacy. Newt’s arms wind tightly around Minho’s neck as his erection slides into him, filling him up and making him whine loudly. Minho feels like the walls of his mind tumble as he grunts and dives deeper into the blond beneath him. His elbows are prepped next to Newt’s head and slowly he moves back and forwards over and over again, thrusting into the other’s body, making his milky thighs quiver as he bites purple bruises into his neck. He hits his sweet spot and Newt just gets louder, just grips his shoulders tighter as his nails dig into the sun-kissed skin.

Minho wrecks him good, wrecks him careful, as his head and his heart are already crushed beneath the overwhelming sensation of being inside his love, pleasuring his love so well.

Minho rocks into him, pace speeding up, and Newt moans desperately, calling out loud Minho’s name like a mantra and taking each bit of sanity that’s left in the depths of Minho’s mind. „Minho,“ he mewls, „God, Minho.“ And it sends jolts through his veins, making him growl lowly as he tries to get closer, hit deeper, hear more.

He kisses him until his lips are bruised and Newt cums with heavy pants against Minho’s, orgasm ripping through his chest and making his back arch beautifully. Minho eats up the hot breaths, not shortly after filling up the blond as well, milky cum sliding along the bruised skin of Newt’s thighs as they eventually disconnect.

Their breathing is heavy, chests rising and falling and eyelids drooping. Minho smiles lazily when he slumps down next to his lover, fingers gently brushing the damp hair out of his sight as the other hums in content, closing his eyes and snuggling closer. Minho is sure his heart is about to burst.

Summer feels so good on his skin, Newt pressed into his side as love softly sings them to sleep. And the next morning Minho is kissed awake by the other, joining him in the shower and watching him lazily when he gets dressed – even helping to button up his shirt, fingertips gracing sharp collarbones. They eat breakfast together and Sunday passes in such soft waves, such tenderness and warm streams of sunshine.

Summer feels so good on Minho’s skin, kisses of his lover like honey and vanilla as he is so sure that’s what heaven must be like.

 

 

But then four days later he picks up Newt from work and there’s a sudden change of weather in Minho’s life, so abrupt and harsh, making him think winter’s started in the midst of July. Newt’s face is painted with irritation, with a bittersweet colour of doubts.

He asks, „Aren’t you getting tired?“

And Minho looks at him surprised, hand on the blond’s smaller back when suddenly he feels like flinching away. „Of what?“ he asks back, „Scrubbing the toilets for Alby? Well, yes, but it’s quite an honour to hear that I’m better at it than Ben.“

This time Newt doesn’t laugh at his snarky joke. Instead he sighs, heavy and dejected. „Minho…“ It’s like a hidden alarm to Minho’s ears.

So he asks once more, „Getting tired of what, Newt?“

And then the other snaps. „Of this routine,“ he says, „Aren’t you getting tired of picking me up every day after work and heading back to Alby’s where you’ll sleep on a run-down mattress in the bloody basement? Aren’t you fucking unsatisfied with this town yet? You’ve been out there in the world and your goal really can’t be,“ he flings his arms wildly, „this.“

Minho’s brows furrow. „What makes you say that?“

„It’s just – it’s just,“ another long and heavy exhale slips of Newt’s lips, „why aren’t you tired of me yet?“ he finally asks and it almost breaks Minho’s heart. „They’ve all been so tired – I mean, I’m tired of myself, too.“

„That’s because you work too much,“ Newt rolls his eyes at his joke, „also I don’t think I’ll ever be tired of you. Not when there’s still so much of you to discover. I’ll gladly take you over any river bank or hillside.“

He leans in to kiss the pout on the blond’s lips, who averts his eyes, staring at his shoes. „You’re so fucking stupid,“ he mumbles, but Minho smiles at him.

„Don’t forget crazy,“ he adds, „crazy for you.“

„I’m being serious.“

Minho’s smile grows when the other starts to walk faster beside him. „Me, too.“

„You’re so,“ Newt groans frustratedly, „You really don’t want to leave?“

Minho makes sure his fingertips stay pressed into the blond’s back when they walk up the staircase of his porch. „Only with you by my side.“

And finally standing in front of Newt’s front door, Minho already so familiar with each and every oh so tiny groove and furrow in the painted wood, the blond just silently turns around, facing him and making his expression soften immediately.

„Newt,“ he murmurs gently, lovingly, „if you want me to leave, I will do so – if you want me gone, then I’ll go. But if you don’t, I mean if you want to be with me then I promise you; I’ll wait an eternity for you and not even one day I will get even one bit near being tired of anything you do.“

His heart flutters when Newt tries to hide the eventual smile. „What about the way I look though?“ he asks teasingly, „I won’t look like this forever.“

„Me neither.“

And that’s actually all it takes. They smile at each other and when Newt comes to hug Minho it is quiet for a moment and Minho can feel the blond’s heartbeat so clear and hard against his own chest and the hairs on his neck are up in no second, his fingertips gingerly caressing the line of Newt’s spine, and the fabric of his red shirt feels like rough cord underneath them, but Minho knows the skin that’s wrapped beneath is so soft and he is almost dying to touch it again.

„Don’t go.“ It is a last small whisper and it’s so ironic when Newt just closes the door behind him then, leaving Minho all on his own on his porch, the faint touch of sweet lips still ghosting above his own.

 

 

It’s even more ironic when he wants to pick him up from work the day after that, but he’s already gone and it’s Gally closing the bakery instead.

„Where’s Newt?“ he asks, brows furrowed.

Gally, however, turns his back towards the shop, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he slowly makes his way away from it. „Oh, he went earlier today,“ he says.

„Why?“

An apathetic glance. „Because he can.“

Minho rolls his eyes in return. „Come on,“ he presses, „Where is he?“

„You will have to search for him in order to answer that question.“

„Thank you for your help,“ Minho grunts sarcastically, „I really appreciate it.“

Gally, however, stays unaffected, walking further and leaving the other behind him. „No problem, man.“

Minho leaves slightly pissed and tries it at Newt’s home instead, ringing the door bell once, twice, thrice and, well, many times with no success whatsoever. Sighing he slumps down on the porch, frown on his face and irritation like a chaos painting the walls within his head.

And twenty minutes pass as he just sits there, torn between wanting to wait for Newt, just to wait for him, and trying to come to a conclusion where the blond might be. So he decides to just wait for him, wait until he’s back and he can kiss him once before leaving, but when slowly but surely it gets darker around him and the temperature sinks Minho starts doubting his decision.

He knows not even nearly where Newt might be at and with the sun preparing to leave he doesn’t even know if he’ll be back anytime soon. So he slowly starts his way back to Alby’s, head bowed when he suddenly bumps into someone. He mutters a small excuse and there’s a distracted apology in return, but the familiar sound of the voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Minho looks up, making the head in front of him pop up as well and – guess what – it’s Brenda and her soft expression hardens immediately.

„Ya!“ she yells harshly, „Look where you’re going!“

Minho meanmugs her. „You could’ve looked as well!“ he yells back.

„Don’t tell me what to do!“

They glare at each other before she carries on with her way, facing the front gruffly, her soft features twisting in annoyance. Minho only rolls his eyes, starting to stomp off as well – until he halts. His brows furrow in doubt and he really must be stupid, but he shouts after her.

„Hey, uhm, you!“ he yells, turning eventually around and seeing her freeze, „Brenda, right?“

And she turns around, too, looking so awfully annoyed and Minho curls his hands into fists, beating himself to stay as polite as possible. He must be totally nuts.

„What do you want?“ she asks, „I’m not actually in the mood for a fistfight right now, but I’m always free on Sundays.“ Minho crinkles his nose in dislike when a plastic smile is thrown his way, but as soon as she turns around again, showing Minho her back, he starts yelling once again

„Have you seen Newt?“ It seems to perk her interest, because next she glances at him over her shoulder, brows crunched and glossy lips in a frown. „I can’t find him.“

„Wasn’t he at work?“

Minho shakes his head. „No,“ he answers, „and he wasn’t at home either.“

Her back is facing him again when she starts to mutter, „Maybe he just didn’t want to open the door for you–“

But Minho interrupts her. „Brenda,“ he says and eventually she sighs, long and heavy, before turning around to look at him more directly.

„Have you searched on the farm yet?“ she asks, voice harsh, but Minho knows it’s all an act.

He looks at her confused. „The farm?“ he repeats, not sure if he heard her correctly.

„Yes,“ she bites, „the farm.“

„I – what?“

She groans. „Have you searched on the farm or not?“

Minho shakes his head as he tells her, „No.“

„Then do it!“

„Okay!“

He turns around, perplexedly heading off until he starts rushing there – he really doesn’t have to, he actually doesn’t have to hurry, but he feels like the time is ticking too fast and it’s already nine PM and July is pressing onto his lungs in a muggy, but oh so sweet whiff, mosquitos already gnawing at his arms and legs as he just keeps sprinting down the dry sand roads to the farm. He stomps through knee-high grass, thin and spiky, and in front of the chicken coop he stops, spinning in circles. Newt isn’t there and Minho can just stand and wonder where July has taken his love. Thinking Brenda just wanted to have a laugh, he huffs, ready to sink to the ground and yell, chest heaving and silky black hair a mess.

His gaze wanders over the farmer’s cattle grazing and peacefully resting in between high leaves of grass. He looks at the sheep freely standing, but not moving an inch, at patches full of ripe carrots, kale and tomatoes and beds of sweet potatoes and beets. Looks at grapes clinging onto the barn’s slats and the weathercock on top of the roof still, no movement, no gush of wind unsettling it. His gaze drifts over the brittle wooden fence, put up to shield the small chicken coop, but too weak to eventually accomplish its duties. Then drifts over to wildflowers blossoming in a wild ocean of green at the foot of the barn, rearing and rising up the aged wood, drifts over two high oaks by the end of the corn field, over sacks of grains, two rakes, a dented wheelbarrow and – back to the oaks.

Minho stares at the two oaks, not entirely sure if he’s actually seeing what his eyes are telling him – but he is so sure that’s Newt, sitting nestled in between lush leaves in the crown of the tree, branches engulfing and steadying him.

And that’s when Minho starts running, yells „Newt!“ until his throat goes dry, grin achingly wide on his face as he scurries through the corn field, the plants whipping sharply against his neck, his chest and even his cheeks, leaving red stripes on his bare olive skin.

He stops at the thick trunk, gaze wandering upwards until his eyes meet Newt’s, a laugh following from the treetop that makes Minho forget about the stinging pain as he hurriedly starts climbing up, clasping the steady branches and latching onto the tree until there’s a soft hand gripping his collar and pulling him further. Shakily Minho sits down on the thick branch, inches apart from Newt, who is resting peacefully with his back against the stem and his feet dangling on each side of him. He is quietly laughing, making Minho smile as he grips onto the branch underneath him with sweaty palms.

„You could’ve chosen a more comfortable place to hide, though,“ he mutters gently and the blond chuckles, almost breathless.

„I didn’t know you would search for me,“ he answers.

„You were gone.“ Minho offers him another light smile. „What do you expect me to do?“

„Accept the fact that I’m gone.“

„That’s wishful thinking!“

Newt’s crooked smile makes the time halt again and Minho is thankful for the pauses he offers him. The blond lowers his head, bangs falling into his eyes and Minho wishes he had the time to count each of his lashes.

It is quiet for a moment as Newt closes his eyes, head falling against the trunk behind him and Minho takes the moment to let his gaze linger, just linger, on the blond – on his peaceful soft face with cheeks rosy and nose pointy, lashes curved and dark and lips full of red. But it is so dark already and Minho swears he can see his lover disappearing in front of his eyes, slowly, very slowly, like sand grains in salt water.

„I thought about yesterday.“ Newt mumbles softly and it’s only above a whisper, but it tears apart Minho’s thoughts, gaze wandering up from the boy’s lips to his eyes.

„Yesterday?“ he asks back.

Slowly Newt’s eyes flutter open, gentle and warm as they meet Minho’s and he feels his heart thump so hard inside his chest when Newt hums in affirmation, cold fingers gently tugging at his own. Hesitantly he partly lets go off the branch beneath him, taking Newt’s hand into his own instead.

„What about yesterday?“ he asks and Newt shyly averts his gaze, interlacing their fingers and shyly fiddling with Minho’s, running the tip of his index finger along his knuckles.

„About what you said.“ Newt admits in a small voice, but Minho doesn’t really catch on, only raising his brows at him and making the blond sigh before glancing into every direction but his.

„You know…“ he murmurs, „about leaving and all that.“ But when Minho’s expression stays the same, stupid confusion like a fat question mark on his forehead Newt looks at him aghast, complaining that „You know what I’m talking about!“

„No, I don’t!“

„Minho! – Argh!“

It gets quiet for another moment then, Minho’s eyes trained on the blond, who nervously bites his lower lip, fingers gripping so tightly at Minho’s until he eventually whispers, „I wanna leave with you.“ And Minho’s eyes go wide, oxygen caught inside his throat.

He gulps. „Are you sure? You mean, you want to leave this village – your home – with me?“ he asks, so utterly stunned and at a loss for words, „You want to travel with me?“

And when Newt nods – actually nods! – and his gaze holds onto Minho’s surely, Minho can only gape – before he starts laughing. Minho starts laughing, short breathy huffs climbing up his throat and vanishing in the muggy air of July like thick and dusty pollen. He laughs and laughs and his eyes disappear as they form into tiny crescents, laughter lines visible and prominent and his heart is swelling with joy as he grips Newt’s hand a little tighter, lifting it up to kiss its back once, twice and again and again. And then Newt grins until his grin turns into the sweetest laugh and they are just sitting in the treetop, laughing light and carefree. Because that was their story and it was so uniquely and beautifully written – it was so light and it was leading them to such brilliant chapters.

And that night when Minho brings Newt home he kisses him hard – until they are gasping for air, chests heaving and lips parted. Newt’s lips taste like whipped cream in molten strawberry ice cream and Minho wonders if it’s just July gnawing at his senses, but he can’t wait to taste those lips in winter. And when they finally separate Minho can’t help but look after the blond until the door completely blocks his sight – only for it to open again with a slide creaking, making Minho freeze. A soft pitter-patter down the stairs of the porch resounds, bare feet and on tip toes when Newt presses a last warm kiss to Minho’s lips, murmuring a shy „I love you“ and that’s all it needs to knock the breath completely out of Minho’s lungs. 

He stops and stares, watching his love hurry back inside the house, cheeks flushed a bright red as he slams the front door shut loudly and after a moment of utter amazement, Minho finally grins – until he yells.

„I love you, too!“ he shouts, „Everybody, listen! I fucking love Newt! I love you, Newt!“

It’s almost a shame he doesn’t see the blond sitting with his back pressed against the front door, clutching his legs to his chest as he smiles into the nothingness so stupidly, so utterly and awfully in love.

 

And that night Minho can’t sleep at all, everything a better option than closing his eyes and Alby looks at him with his brows crunched when he mops the floor the next morning with the dreamiest grin and dark circles beneath his eyes.

Ben joins Alby at the bar, worriedly eyeing Minho mopping the floor as he sighs happily from time to time.

 „What’s up with him?“ he asks, forehead in wrinkles.

Alby shrugs. „I don’t really know“ he admits, „but I have the strong feeling it has something to do with Newt.“

 

 

And two days later Alby’s assumption is confirmed.

 

In the night to the 26th of July Minho wakes up to a loud bang, immediately shooting up into a sitting position. His eyes turn wide, but before he is able to switch on the light there is already one glaring at him, making him shut his eyes while groaning loudly. And next there is a hand covering his mouth and he is about to panic, about to think the beast of the farmer is way better than being murdered by some lunatic while he’s still laying inside his too battered sleeping bag – but then he opens his eyes and sees Newt and the relief inside his guts mixes with a wild wave of sudden affection.

He gently grabs the boy’s wrist, taking his palm off his lips and then he finally asks, voice hushed, „What are you doing here?“ And as he sees the heavy backpack on his lover’s shoulders he tilts his head to the right. „And what is that?“ a sudden stupid smirk before, „Are you on a mission?“

Newt stares at him for a moment all struck dumb. „What?“ he asks, „No! I’m here to go.“

Minho’s brows furrow. „Go where?“ he asks in return and Newt really seems speechless for a second.

„Ya, Minho!“ he whines, slapping him across the head and making him groan another time.

He rubs the back of his head with a sulk before his face lights up, eyes wide. „Wait,“ he mumbles, „you mean, you want to go now?“ he asks, „Right now?“

„Take me wherever you want.“

His heart is beating painfully fast, fingers caressing the blond’s face shakily. „What about Alby?“ he asks, „About Gally, Thomas and Chuck?“

Newt swallows visibly, but then his hands grip Minho’s shirt and the other is willing to do whatever he wishes for. „Just stand up and get all your things together.“

And before Minho does just that, his thumb swiftly runs along Newt’s chin, tapping it gently. „Do you have everything you need with you?“ he asks and Newt just says, „I’ve got all I need.“

Minho kisses him once before he changes his shirt, rolls up his sleeping bag and throws everything he owns inside his old leathern rucksack. And it’s so sudden, everything black around them, swallowed by the night and only Newt’s flashlight source of illumination, but when they eventually stand next to each other, Minho takes the blond’s face gently into his hands, cupping his heated cheeks.

„Are you really sure?“ he asks.

And Newt’s small chuckle is so reassuring, like balm for his uneasy soul. „I’m not leaving this planet, only this town.“

„But I don’t want you to do anything you don’t absolutely want.“

Newt’s fingers fist the seam of his shirt. He murmurs, „Minho, please, take me away.“ And Minho is so far gone.

„I just – I…“

Newt looks at him with wide eyes, each full of shooting stars and Minho lets his thumb gingerly run along the boy’s right cheek, rubbing soothingly – even though he isn’t sure if he needs the soothing more than Newt.

„I just want you to know, that –“ he pauses, inhaling deeply and looking at Newt once more and when he sees the honest heed inside those eyes he can’t help but rub the tip of his thumb across the soft cheek once more, „that – I want you to know that I know people come and go and love ends and starts anew, but you will never have to be afraid when you’re with me, because you’re really all I think I could ever love and that’s so painfully cheesy and so terrifying all at once, but it’s true.“ – Because when I see you the sun is suddenly shining even though it’s raining and the storms rip apart flower beds and I know I haven’t even loved you every season yet, but I am willing to do so and that’s why I hope you’re coming with me, staying with me.

Yes, a few words go unsaid, but somehow Minho thinks Newt knows – he just knows that there is more and when Newt smiles and kisses him oh so softly he knows it’s a promise. The blond takes his hand, interlacing their fingers before they silently sneak out of the window. In front of the pension Newt lets go of Minho’s hand, reaching for his bag and pulling out an envelope, white and simple.

He puts it down on the doormat – Minho knows it’s for Alby – before he turns around to face him, smile like the sun even though it is night.

„I will miss Audrey, though,“ he admits softly, but Minho promises him, „We’ll visit her once in a while.“

And when Newt chuckles lightly, breathlessly, Minho nearly feels his knees give out, heart fluttering inside his chest as the thought of the future makes it leap in eagerness. He takes his hand once more, kissing each of his knuckles before they turn to leave, backs turned towards every rooftop and chimney.

 

Alby’s assumption is confirmed when the village is full of hubbub in the morning of the 26th of July, a babel of voices as he smiles at the letter inside his hands. He neatly folds it, noticing Thomas with a sack of pet food clutched tightly to his chest as he greets him with a sunny smile before passing by. Shoving it back into the envelope, Brenda waves at him, white letter inside her right hand as she hurries past him.

And Alby flips over the opening sign, shaking his head as he doesn’t even try to suppress the grin on his lips.

 

 

 

 

_Come, see the world with me while you slowly but surely become mine, piece by piece, day by day._

 


End file.
